


cover me with mirrors

by FlyingLizards



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Frank believes Matt's the devil, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, No beta we die like mne, Non-Graphic Violence, That's it thats the plot, its kinda a kink of mine, or at least no that graphic, way too many devil references, what is plot? baby don't hurt me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingLizards/pseuds/FlyingLizards
Summary: They meet in alleyway. Frank believes he just met the Devil and is half convinced of it during most of his acquaintance with Matt. They begin to work together on finding out the real culprits behind the slaughter of Frank's family.They fall in love eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my first fic, but i have not written in years so be warned. I saw Daredevil s2 like forever ago and I'm not done with the Punisher so this won't follow canon too closely or maybe at all eventually. Also I know next to nothing about the American justice system, the American Law system, nor the American Prison system, I also know almost next to nothing about religion and I'm writing blindly and uninformed. You can be sure I know nothing about anything and that this will probably have no content apart from my own self indulgence. Am I stupid? yes, yes I am.
> 
> I am also using the looks Matt has in the comics. I love Charlie Cox, but I just really want for Matt to be a redhead.

They do not meet on a roof. Frank’s bleeding out in an alleyway, tired and sleep deprived, calling just enough strength to stand the _fuck up_ and keep walking to his safe house. But his muscles are trembling as adrenalin abandons him and his legs won’t answer to his brain.

He just shot down a reunion of what was left of the Irish mob, and a stray bullet caught him on the side and now he is bleeding through the entering and exit holes it left behind. He laughs, dizzy and by now a bit deranged, _he’s got a tunnel in his stomach._

He thinks of his son. Of Frankie, making one long and crooked straw out of a bunch of other normal straws. Trying and failing to drink from his sister’s juice while standing five feet away.

It’s cold, it’s humid, it smells like trash and Frank can feel it as the stink starts to linger on his skin. He takes in a ragged breath and keeps it inside his chest. He gets on his knees and puts a leg in front of the other, but he shakes and stumbles and he is on his knees again. He’s been running on fumes for too long. A long forgotten feeling of shame appears at the thought of what an awfully pathetic death he’s gonna have. He didn’t die in any of his tours, didn’t die from a goddam bullet to the head. He is going to die because he is too tired to walk two more blocks and stitch himself up.

The streetlight blinks making a buzzing sound. Frank is tempted to close his eyes, but that won't do, not even if it helps him center himself. The risk of falling asleep is too high.

Far away, a rhythmic _tap tap tap_ catches his attention. Too soft, and each sound too far apart from each other to belong to woman’s heels. It’s coming closer. He tries to stand up again, fails, trembles, grunts and the tapping stops a second. Then it becomes faster, closer.

A man stands straight at the mouth of the alleyway. Frank looks from his polished shoes to his white thin cane, up to his crispy suit, tie. A lamppost behind him poses as some sort of shitty halo, too bright. Frank can´t make out his features, but there’s a red glint where his eyes should be.

He knows who this man is, how could he not, they should have met long ago.

“You commin’ here for my soul?” he croaks “give me more time and I will give you some real good reasons to impart eternal punishment on me.”

He can´t beg to live. Won’t allow himself that much.

The Devil stares at him and tilts his head to the side, like a predator would. He takes a step closer, and says something. His voice sounds sweet and deep, but Frank can´t make out the words.

The world becomes tiny and disappears with an exhale.

Frank wakes up. He is no longer in an alleyway, the air is dry and the only unpleasant smell is coming from him. The pain of his wound radiates to the rest of his stomach, his muscles are stiff and his throat dry. He is not dead, he thinks. He isn’t so sure he isn’t in hell anyways.

The ceilings are high, wherever he is. His vision is blurry and can’t distinguish shapes. There’s a red light, gradating to pink, to purple, to blue and then red again. It remains on his retinas even as he closes his eyes, it penetrates through his eyelids. Suddenly, something places itself between him and the lights, Frank opens his eyes and the devil is standing there, silent as a shadow; Frank didn’t hear him come.

“You took your sweet time waking up. It’s going to be morning soon”

Frank snaps awake, the familiar feeling of adrenalin bringing him back to earth.

“Where am I?” he murmurs, threatening. “Who are you?”

“You don’t know who I am? You’ve been talking to me in your sleep” The Devil inquires. The red lights at his back takes form; it is a billboard showing publicity about some new show on Netflix. Frank is quite sure now this is a normal man. But the feeling of vulnerability won’t go away, he can barely move, he feel the stitches closing his wounds, he’s got bandages all around his torso and arms. Frank blinks, and the man has moved. Frank startles and groans in pain “You shouldn’t move too much, you haven’t healed yet”

“Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?” The stranger smiles, as if amused, his teeth white.

“I’m Matt. You are in my apartment. I found you bleeding out and called a friend to patch you up. I _was_ going to call the police, but I realized that bringing the Punisher to my home would be quite suspicious and I can’t afford such publicity”

Frank snorts, his eyes looking for exits. A door that probably leads to a bedroom, windows without curtains, there’s a kitchen at his right. Incredibly open space. The door to the outside must be at his back then.

“Shouldn’t have brought me here in the first place then” He intones, slowly incorporating. Matt shrugs.

“I didn’t know who you were at first. You were crying and calling me the devil. I thoug-.”

“I was _not _crying” Frank growls.

“I thought you were a junkie” Matt continues, a smile present in his voice “then I realized you were bleeding profusely. I stopped thinking clearly after that”

_“Why not call an ambulance then?” _He doesn’t say. He doesn’t believe a word this man is saying.

Pain shots through him as he tries to sit, like lighting, he sees white. The world becomes blurry again. Crimson light drowns his sight when the Devil walks to his side, no longer covering him front the windows, silent, almost as if his feet didn’t touch the floor. Almost as if there isn’t a floor to stand on and he is floating, they both are. His face is close now, all red light and shadows where features should be. Frank’s head is pounding and he feels weightless. That sweet and deep voice talks to him and it’s the last thing Frank perceives as he dives into unconsciousness once again

Frank smells antiseptic and hears a bipping and he knows exactly where he is. He tugs his hands and realizes both his writs are handcuffed. A man in uniform enters at the sound, face stoic. Frank knows he is _oh so fucked_.

Frank apparently hallucinated the whole thing. That, or he actually met the devil, which considering the bitch of a luck he has it’s not that far from possible. What was the devil doing so far from the war he fought, he wonders, that he never met him there but in a dingy alleyway in New York City.

Were wars man made and so no place for something that was once holy. Or was New York that much of a shit hole that demons felt right at home walking down it’s streets.

They locked him in solitary, afraid that he might snap and kill some other inmate. Fools, all these fuckers. Frank wouldn’t as much as _snap_, he would get slightly offended and would break some wrists. That was the coldly calculated decision of depriving them of the ability to jack off without help.

He snapped a long time ago.

A week passes by, Frank grows restless. He’s been planning some half assed scape strategies since the moment he put foot inside this place. There hasn’t been news of the outside world. He doesn’t know when his trial is going to be or even if is he going to have one. He should, but the justice system is so crooked and he _did_ commit the crimes they are probably accusing him off. Maybe even more that they don’t even know about. Mightas well just tell him to _please_ _sit here, Mr. Castle. _Flip a switch, electrify him till’ he is all crispy and ready for consumption.

At night he dreams with a soft tapping down the hallways. He wonders the reason the devil is silent while walking is because he doesn’t have feet, and that hellish _tap tap tap_ is the sound of his hooves as he slowly approaches in his real form, shape he takes when no one is seeing him.

The people bringing him food are clearly afraid of him. It would feel good if the bastards weren’t so goddam annoying and just squeaked and ran like they did the first 3 days. Now they taunt him, voices quivering. It looks as if they are sticking their hands inside the lion’s cage and then pulling away abruptly when the animal looks at them. Pussies, the lot of them.

That doesn’t last long.

They haul him one day into a interrogation room. With handcuffs in both hands and feet. They wanted to put a muzzle on him, too, but they didn’t have one. Frank told them that he didn’t like the taste of blood anyways, at least when it’s warm, so they didn’t have to worry about him biting into their necks. Watch the ears though. 

He’s been alone way too long; he is gonna milk whatever little entertainment he can while he can.

He sits alone and stares at the two way mirror, he looks like shit, and wonders how many people are watching him. Would they shoot him through the glass if he tries to scape? They would. In the head. They’d say they were aiming for the shoulder. And Frank would probably survive too. And this time he’d wake up and he wouldn’t be able to move, alive and in a vegetal state. The Devil smiling at his bed’s feet, red lights coming from nowhere and everywhere. Voice sweet and deep like drowning in honey. Thick in his lungs. Deafening his ears.

A pudgy man enters the room, he is shaking, clearly nervous. But his voice doesn’t waver as he introduces himself.

“My name is Foggy Nelson, from Nelson and Murdock. My partner and I have volunteered to become your attorneys”

Those names sound familiar, but he can’t place them. Frank raises and eyebrow. “Foggy” he repeats.

Nelson smiles, uncertain. “My name is actually Franklin. But, you know, _ugh_” he cringes “I rather just be Foggy.”

"What about the public defendant, shouldn't I be getting that?"

"He and us have struck a deal. We are here to convince you to allow us to represent you, we've taken an special interest in your case. No need to worry, we are doing it pro bono"

Frank stares at Nelson. He is now sure he’s been set up and at most they’ll give him a fake trial, for this is clearly some hipster they dragged from the nearest coffee shop to be a fake lawyer in exchange of some vintage ponchos or whatever the fuck these kids are into.

" 'We'?"

The lawyer starts to squirm under his gaze and plants a tight smile.

“My partner will be here shortly. Mr Castle, so we might as well get started”

“We ain’t gettin’ started on nothing. I don’t need some fake trial when I’m sure one of these fuckers…” he nods to the mirror “… Is going to make sure I kill myself with my own bed sheets for tomorrow mornin’. Or try, at least”

Nelson Blinks.

“Mr. Castle, my partner and I believe that you acted under extenuating circumstances, and we will make sure that nothing happens to you during the course of your trial”

“I don’t give a shit about your fake ass ‘beliefs’. I don’t need some soulless lawyer trying to make me act like I was crazy when I shoot down the Irish. They all deserved it” _and I’m not going to stop_ He wants to add_ I’m going to kill them all until there’s nobody left standing but me._

Nelson frowns and opens his mouth to argue, but Frank doesn’t hear him. He stares at his own reflection and feels the blood rushing through his veins into his head. Hoping whoever is behind the glass is done getting off on this shit show.

He tunes into the hallway, the muffled sounds coming from outside. That rhythmic and slow tapping approaches. Soflty, out of the back of his mind into reality. His heart speeds up. The door opens, and guided by an officer, the Devil enters the room and smiles.

“Hello Mr. Castle, my name is Matthew Murdock”

Frank smiles back, almost a snarl.

“Hello Satan”

Nelson splutters and glances rapidly from the Devil to Frank and back again.

“There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Castle. I’m a catholic” he says earnestly. Reaching slowly for a chair while his head keeps on facing him, his eyes behind red sunglasses stare past Frank’s shoulders and he realizes Matthew Murdock is blind. The white cane should have given it away, but Frank spent over a week alone with his thoughts in a tiny room convinced he’d met the devil when he was about to die. He chastises himself, he hasn’t been observant enough. He can’t afford to make mistakes, of any kind.

He studies the newest arrival. Red hair, lean, tall, with the most charming smile, dimples and all, five o’ clock shadow, chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, long fingers, long legs and wide defined shoulders. And although the glasses cover a big part of his face, Frank believes that this is what Lucifer must have looked like before he fell.

Nelson and Murdock try to convince him that they are here to help him. That they can soften his sentence, that they are sure there’s something more going on against him, many facts don’t add up. What happened to him didn’t happen by chance, it couldn’t.

An although Frank didn’t want to listen, the words coming from Murdock’s mouth feel like a punch in the gut, over and over again. He talks about his family, about justice. Lisa, Frankie, Maria. They were not collateral damage but victims, weren’t they? They were not at the wrong place at the wrong time they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

And he promises that they, Nelson and Murdock, will do anything and everything in their power to help him. To bring the truth to the light.

They beg him to accept their help. And it’s oh so tempting. Almost like he is not alone in this crusade. And now there’s a drop of hope mixing inside all that rage that fuels him, and when he accepts it doesn’t feel like he is selling his soul, but like a window is opening and he wants desperately to climb through it.

He can’t shake their hands since he is still handcuffed to the table, but he nods at them. Murdock smiles a second before Nelson tells him that Frank just nodded. A second too soon, as if he knew.

Frank doesn’t dwell on it, not now. They think someone pulled strings and this was a direct attack on him and his family, not just a coincidence. He realizes that he always thought so, too.

There are more people that need to pay. He’s not nearly as done as he thought he was. His lawyers promised him that he won’t get death penalty, that he’d eventually come out. And he will come out ready. And If the judge declares he must remain behind bars too long to be acceptable, tough, he will scape and track down those bastards who killed his family.

He dreams of Maria. She is lying on the grass, her hand on her stomach. She looks young, younger than she was the day she died, Frank notices she is caressing her belly. And knows Lisa is there, five months old.

They both were so scared at the beginning, they had just reached adulthood and had nothing to their names but Maria’s student loans and Frank’s experiences doing many odd jobs to earn money in his teens. And then Lisa kicked so hard that Maria yelped. Frank started to panic, not knowing what happened. Maria began to laugh and clumsily guided his hand to right bellow where he knew her belly button was. Lisa kicked again right there, the moment he made contact. Frank almost cried.

He did cry when she was born. He cried again when Jr. was born. Maria laughed happily, or maybe just laughed at him, both times.

Frank woke up in his cell, a widow and childless, with the feeling of Lisa’s warm little body lingering on his palms. She was so tiny back then; she fitted so well between his two hands.

Frank did not cry, but he did whimper once. Then the rage came back and he punched a wall until he bled and the guards came to stop him. He spent the rest of the day sedated.

He had not much to do while locked up, so he trained until exhaustion and he repeated the names of those he had yet to kill inside his head, over and over. The guards were more subdued now. Nobody threw insults at him and called him murderer, not to his face anymore. Frank wasn’t sure why the change, he was not complaining though. He met again with his lawyers, once, and they discussed what they wanted to do at his public audience, they asked him for information of what he had done, how, and why. Nelson seemed uncomfortable the whole time, and if Murdock was too he didn’t show it. If anything he seemed determined, as if there was really something he could do. Frank didn’t know if he was really that naïve or if it wasn’t only and act.

Once he grew bored he told them to fuck off, and they said farewell to him politely, as if he hadn’t been a rude asshole.

When he was back again in solitary he mildly regretted not having spent more time outside, even if he had to put up with the dynamic duo. He was restless and had nothing to do but drown in his own rage and sweat.

Three days later Nelson and Murdock came back bearing bad news; someone was getting rid of crucial information almost as fast as they gathered it. They showed him what they had found until now, mentioning one of their associates, Karen Page. Who was right now tracking more people down. They looked tired, Nelson was shaking from excess caffeine, Murdock hid it better but he was the same. Frank noticed that Murdock had a bruise on his cheek that had been hastily covered with makeup, but didn’t comment on it.

“So what you’re sayin’ is that everything has been useless? That what you mean?”

Nelson shook his head calmly.

“No. We are saying that we are now sure that there’s something else going on here”

Frank Huffed

“We already knew that, Shaggy. Don’t try an’ sugar coat the fact that all those pretty little promises that you made were all fucking hollow!.”

Nelson frowned and Murdock Grimaced, then he spoke:

“At this time and age there’s no sure way of completely getting rid of information. There are always fail safes, someone always keeps something. Mr. Castle we have not stopped and we will not stop. We have enough to push something forward. And we have enough to keep you away from death penalty”

“How’d you plan on doing that anyway? I did shoot them, I wanted to as well, I planned it, I had every fucking reason.” His voice is low and gravy, but Murdock doesn’t even flinch. Nelson sighs.

“Mainly? We are going to stall this as much as we can. Unless you let us plead insanity.”

“Not a fucking chance”

“Then, we will find some other way, Mr. Castle.” Nelson soothes him. Frank realizes that Nelson is not scared of him anymore.

They discuss some more, but they leave shortly after that.

Frank meets them two more times over the next week. And then two times more. The news are not always good and they not always bring news. They mostly discuss his case. What he is willing to say, willing to compromise. He will not deny he is guilty he is asked, and that makes Nelson want to pull at his hair. By the fifth meeting Nelson is completely over his fear of him and that now has been replaced with pure unaltered frustration. Murdock’s demeanor has not changed, always smiling at the right moments. Always calm, always knowing what to say, defusing Franks anger before it begins to boil.

He is really just a lawyer. Not the Devil. Frank had a fever dream and then gave it the face of the first handsome guy who crossed his way. Like a lunatic.

Things are not looking bright, they never are. But he can feel the anticipation that something is coming, something is going to happen.

A Guard he’s never seen before enters his room and tries to strangle him with bed sheets. Not his, the guard brought some others´. Frank hears him enter and before he gets the chance to touch him Frank punches him on the throat, the stomach, the crotch, and then breaks his tibia for good measure. He should have brought at least a knife, the fucking idiot.

It backfires and then he is accused of attacking a guard. Nelson is climbing walls by now. He comes in accompanied with a blonde lady, beautiful like a painting, which takes his statement and makes all kinds of questions. She introduces herself as Karen Page, Nelson and Murdock’s associate. Murdock was sick, apparently, and couldn’t come.

Frank doesn’t sleep that night, too wired up. Alert, listening for someone approaching. He hears only his heart and his breathing, and softly far, far away the tapping of a blind man’s cane.

Days blend together, he falls asleep while sitting, while standing up. He sees the sun in the sky and Maria's face, wakes up at the sound of an automatic.

Once while meeting his lawyers he hunches, feeling ants under his skin. He rubbed a hand on his face. With his throat dry he spoke:

"Why are you doing this? There's nothing to gain here" Frank asked tiredly, slumping on his seat.

Nelson glances at his side and breathes in deep. He looks straight at him.

"We can't let you go down, our conscience won't let us. We'd be going against the reason we became lawyers" Nelson answered honestly.

"And what's that?"

"To help the innocent, help those who can't afford it"

"Where do I fit in all that then, I am not innocent, you know that."

"We do know, Mr. Castle. But I believe in redemption" Itervined Murdock. Frank gritted his teeth.

"There’s no such a thing. Once you go rotten you stay rotten" he bit at him.

"You don't want to be redeemed?“

“Newsflash sunshine, there's no God, there's no redemption. And if it were I don't want it. I don't regret the things I did"

"Are you certain of that, not a thing? No man killed, no bullet fired?"

Franks screams at them to leave.

Neither Nelson nor Murdock, or even Page comes to see him that week. Frank was getting bored out of his mind, holed up, seething in rage, doing pushups until he passes out. He feels like he is burning, he feels at the edge of vomiting, all because since de incident with the guard he hasn’t had more than an hour of sleep every night. Frank begins to hear a constant buzz in his ears that consistently transform in other sounds. He starts to hear Frankie screaming while he is getting shot. But Frank knows his son didn’t scream while they killed him. He just dropped to the ground like a potato sack, bleeding through his throat, arms and chest.

Frank grits his teeth and closes his eyes hard until it almost hurts. Then he feels a wave of nausea from his neck to his forehead and weight on his shoulders. And then it’s gone. Frank is still tired, but he feels warms and confortable. He knows he is asleep. He hasn’t had a lucid dream in years, and he is scared of what he might see. He is the most helpless while he is asleep, dreaming of the many ways his family is murdered and all he can do is stand there and watch, horrified until he wakes up screaming.

This time Maria is breathing softly by him, she is holding onto her phone. She did that sometimes, then Lisa told her _“what if you get hand cancer, mom?” _And even though Maria was sure such thing didn’t exist, she stopped doing it altogether.

Frank stares at her, willing his dream to remain like this, nobody bursting in and killing her. Even if all she does is sleep, doesn’t talk, smile. Just sleeps, right by his side, alive and safe.

“Do you ever ask yourself, Frank, would she have been proud of what you do now that she is gone?” Murdock asks, standing at the feet of his bed, smiling and holding his cane like kings held their swords.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m dreaming with my goddam lawyer, now of all times” Frank grunts.

“Blasphemy, Frank” he tuts. He then smiles again, cocking his head. “Or, do you ever wonder, had she not died, would your marriage have lasted? The Frank that left and the one that came back were two different people, were they not?”

“What’s this bullshit? You came here to plant doubts in my head? That your job now? Some kinda inception shit?”

“Yes. Your soulless lawyer, here to plant some doubts in your subconscious, lets continue: Do you think we gave up on you? That’s why we haven’t come?”

“You _said_ that you-.”

“Did I give you some promises? Did you buy them, open them and realize it was only the package? Not real content there”

Frank glowers and sits. His hand on Maria’s, but all his attention on Murdock.

“Get the fuck outta here” Frank orders, voice low and threatening.

“Is that what you want, Frank? That I leave you here, inside a fantasy that will pop like those bubbles Lisa played with, in about… mmh…5 minutes?”

“Yes. Get. Out”

Murdock shakes his head, almost fondly.

“Or do you want something else, I can give you something else. I came all this way”

The devil smiles with all his teeth, he cleans his red tinted glasses with a handkerchief. His eyes are bright like flames, changing colors, from red, to orange, to yellow and back to red again. The room is dark.

Frank swallows “Are you offering some sort of deal?”

“Were you always this sharp, Frank?” he taunts.

Frank breathes, deep and slow.

“Can you bring them back?” his voice is small, broken, holding back desperation. The devil laughs cruelly.

“Of course not! Are you insane?”

“Then what are you here for!” He screams, his voice tearing.

“Do you really think just your soul is worth it, Frank? Your soul for Maria’s, and Lisa’s, and Frankie’s? Your mangy broken soul worth the same as theirs’?” He chuckles lightly, like is ah oh so silly thing he just insinuated. “And even if the rag of a soul you carry around was worth one of theirs, which one would you chose? Bring Maria back, and leave her alone like you are now? Or what about one of the kids? You do know what happens to kids that are left alone in this forsaken world you inhabit. Because it is forsaken, Frank. It is I only who wanders this place. I am the only one left in here”

Frank tightens his grip on Maria’s hand, but they have gone cold and he can’t bring himself to look at her, fearing what he might find.

“What can I get in exchange of what I have?” Frank rasps, facing down at his lap, eyes closed.

Murdock Smirks.

“You already offered, once. ‘_give me more time and I will give you some real good reasons to impart eternal punishment on me’_ I can give you that, time. It is worth at least that much”

There’s a weight on his legs and chest, crushing down on him. Frank breathes in deep, and breathes out shakily.

“Alright” he whispers “alright, deal”

Murdock offers his hand, smiling benignly yet charmingly, like he does during their interviews. Frank let goes of Maria’s -she is no longer breathing- and he shakes firmly. Murdock leans down and murmurs on his ear “When a door closes I don’t open windows, I just open another door”

What.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Frank hears himself say. Then he is awake.

The first thing he see is a door, his room’s door is wide open. But then his sight is covered by a pillow as someone he assumes is another guard is trying to suffocate him in his sleep. He feels groggy and can barely move, can’t resist the weight on top of him.

Why can’t they just shoot him in the throat for fucks sake, why go all this way to make it look like a suicide or accidental death or whatever they are planning?

Frank lets his arms stretch wide and then he is touching his assailant’s leg, feeling up to where he keeps his gun, pretending he is thrashing and helpless. He grabs it, takes off the safety, the mouth of the gun pressing to the man’s thighs, and pulls the trigger. The guard screams and staggers back, and soon enough is Frank the one smothering him on the floor. The pillow muffling the screams.

A minute passes, maybe more, and the guard stops writhing.

Frank looks around. Its dark, nighttime; he slept all day. But there’s no light coming from outside, a blackout? No. this guy was here to kill him, this was completely intentional. Which means the cameras are not working. _Which means _no one is watching him.

He was given time.

He was never one to look a gifted horse on the mouth. Franks puts on the guard’s uniform, and leaves the body on the bed, covered by his shitty, onion-skin thick, blankets.

He walks out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I am quite rusty and absolutely NOTHING happened in this chapter. I've been thirsting for Frank/Matt content for like a week and that's too much for me to stand; this is the result. I will update at the end of this week or maybe the one after. I need to finish the Punisher first to have some, you know, plot.  
Yes, this fic's title is a song lyric. You guess it and i'll give you something


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids go out and torture. Frank has a few gay thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, as the previous one, has no real content and was made to calm my thirst.

2

Frank lays low. He can’t rush it, he really can’t. His face is all over the news; orders to shoot on sight were given. He is being called a terrorist, a mad man, a mass murderer. He killed his guard in cold blood. Guy was a family man, apparently. His name was Jason Myers, he had a loving wife and a little boy.

Frank can’t bring himself to care. He tried, desperately. He thought about Frankie, what if it was him who was left alone because Frank died at the hands of some madman. But he did neither feel nor empathy nor pity. He gave away his soul after all, exchanged it for an open door.

And Frankie was dead anyways.

He dives into research, looks at the lists people involved. The one he had collected back before he was caught, the one he collected with the information Nelson and Murdock had given him.

Did the devil really give him this, knowing one day Frank would scape to kill them all. Did Murdock appear there, with his cane and glasses and smile and played him like a fiddle. He gave him hope, just enough to make him desperate. To make him want for justice instead of only retribution. And then disappeared off the map, left him to rot in a pit of despair just to so Frank would give everything he had left just for the opportunity to climb. And then fall.

They call him the Punisher first and Frank Castle second, and his life story is everywhere, the death of his family commercialized by the media. They presented the tragic story of how a man lost everything and went insane. Took a bullet to the head and survived, went into coma and woke up missing his heart.

He should have died that day at the park, but the devil had plans and chained him here, or that is what Frank has been finding himself thinking as of late. He was a catholic, once. He believed in God and that the devil lived in the actions of men. Now, he knows there is no god, and is sometimes convinced that his former lawyer is actually _really_ the devil, and sometimes he just knows he cracked.

He goes after the Dogs of Hell, the regular modus operandi of shooting them down until there’s nobody standing, he screams a battle cry while doing so, euphoric. Everything happens so fast, they did not see him coming, confident as they were that he had disappeared. It was just a small group of them, he still hasn’t exterminated the whole gang, but it feels so good to be doing something and it is only a matter of time anyways. He wonders if he has killed the one who shot his little girl on the face already.

He sees himself on TV the day after. The massacre of a local gang they say, or how Frank calls it, community service. He can’t give any less shits right now, he’d have to go to a dog park and maybe dig for something at this point.

Late at night, hiding in one of his safe houses like a fucking rat he dreams of Murdock again. But the devil is not laughing at him, doesn’t even look smug, he just stares at him (or as much as he can, being blind) intently, like he is waiting for him to do something; to do a trick, roll over, bark and play dead; and finds it incredibly boring, like Frank is wasting the time he was given. Frank believes he is using his time just as he should and that his maybe hallucination, maybe really Satan, can go find a giant pitchfork and shove it right up his ass, lube it up with some of that lava from that so often mentioned pit of flames.

One day when everything is going slowly and Frank can’t find anything to do to fill the silence, he investigates the firm. Nelson and Murdock, renowned lawyers better known for putting the kingpin, Wilson Fisk, behind bars. They take more pro bono cases than any other firm in the city: most are those hopeless causes that nobody wants to even look at for the pity they cause is too much to stand. And then Nelson and Murdock arrive on their white stallions, and against all odds win their causes: saving grannies from being evicted, putting molesters in jail.

Murdock really must be the devil, Frank thinks, this is too good of a cover. Only the devil would hide himself in plain sight pretending to be a godsend savior, there for the outcast, for those in needs. Jesus 2.0.

Would have he really saved him if Frank didn’t take the deal? If he hadn’t escaped? Or do all these people he helps shake his hands and give away their souls just to stay in their homes, just to sleep peacefully for the days that they got left? Frank wonders if it is worth it.

Frank wants his hand dirty with the blood of the people who make this long ass blacklist he has. And then, maybe, die. If not by his own hand then by someone’s who is good. Maybe the little boy whose father Frank murderer to get out of his cell. That’d be nice way to wrap up the wreckage that has been his entire existence.

It’s been over 3 months since he escaped. He feels tired and hollow at the moment, almost dead on his feet, but satisfied. During his attack he ran out of bullets and had to smash some guys heads on the wall, and now he is done for the night. Walking slowly and heavily, yet with purpose, feeling the dirt under his boots, he nears the Hudson; might as well get rid of some of the shit he carries.

Frankie almost fell into this river once and Maria almost had an aneurysm. She didn’t let go of him the entire day, until he fell asleep. _We could have lost him_, she said, _I don’t think I would have been able to live after. Maybe for Lisa and you, I could. But just the thought of it, Frank. Just the thought of it…_

“Just the thought of it is enough to make you want to die, is it not, Maria?” he says as he drops his cargo, it’s just some bloodied clothes he’d have to burn anyways. “We could have lost him right there and then. And we would have never been the same. But we would have pulled through, don’t you think? Eventually. We had each other. We had Lisa.” Frank whispers, and looks down.

“I knew I was going to die while I was holding her, you know? I had Lisa bleeding out in my arms. And I heard the shot, I just knew it was directed at me. That was my bullet, and I was so grateful, because until then those 30 seconds since Frankie and you dropped to the ground and I was holding Lisa, where the worst 30 seconds in my life. No moment I spent in Afghanistan, came close to…” he took in an unsteady breath “…to when you three died. I was so grateful because it was going to be over an’ I wouldn’t have to live in this world without you. But guess what, baby? I woke up. I woke up and you weren’t there no more, none of you were.” Saying so out loud makes him feel terribly exposed.

Frank doesn’t cry, but is a near thing; he wants to, he desperately wants to. But he just murdered 30 men. He will not cry to his dead wife now, not when he has viscera on his shoes and can feel the smoke of gunfire still in his lungs, much like when you have your first cigarette, lingering, and he can still the rush so similar to the afterglow that comes after the killing.

“I think I gave my soul away to the Devil, Maria, just for the opportunity to keep on killing. You wouldn’t be proud of me now. I hope wherever you are, sweetheart, you are not looking” he sighs.

“They are always looking, Frank” Murdock’s voice comes behind his back. His hand twitches to the gun he keeps on his hip. It is empty; he just used all he had.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” Frank said mockingly and turned around. Murdock stood there, wearing his glasses and a grey suit, with his back facing the city, his lips pursed. “Leave me alone, Murdock”

“You just killed 30 men, Frank. Don’t you feel guilty?”

“They all deserved it”

“And who are you to decide that, Frank?”

“Have you not heard the fucking news, Murdock, I’m the _Punisher_” he spat the name

“The _Punisher_. Merely an executioner, not a Judge. You_ can’t_ go around killing people, they got families too, lives, Frank! The man you killed to get out had a son!”

“Wouldn’t have had to kill him if he hadn’t try to kill me first, Murdock”

The devil was silent, raising both his eyebrows. “It was planned. He failed and you took advantage of it” He concludes, right on the nail.

“You left me over a week rotting there after giving nothing but shitty news. And then this fucker tries to _smother me with a pillow_! Like a coward.” That’s how you kill old people out of pity, he thinks, and pauses “And the door was wide open…”

“And no one was watching” The devil completes and Frank’s heart stutters. Murdock cocks his head like he did in that feverish dream so long ago. The devil straights himself and asks: “do you plan on keep on killing, Frank? Or you rather find some other way.”

“What’d you got to offer me, Murdock? There’s nothing”

“We could find another way. With no more deaths, Frank”

“No fucking way. Now, leave” Frank brings out his empty gun and points it at Murdock. The fucker just smiles at him, all white teeth.

“We both know it’s not loaded, Frank. It isn’t like you to bluff” He says, and his voice is rich with amusement.

Frank doesn’t put it down and they regard each other for a second. Murdock continues:

“You said Maria wouldn’t be proud of you. You know what you are doing is wrong, you-.”

“Do not lecture me! Do _not_ say her name! You know nothing you piece of shit! Leave me the fuck alone or ill throw you into the river!”

“I’ll help you find them. The real culprits”

“You and your partner already did that and you found nothing”

“That’s because we had to move using legal means. I can help you if I’m not restricted by them. I’m real good at interrogations.” He offers, smiling confidently. And Frank can feel it again: that goddam flicker of hope and thirst for justice and not mere penalty at his own hands. The devil’s words sound so sweet and Frank wants to swallow, but he refuses.

“Fuck off. You only deliver empty promises. Just packages, there’s no real content there, is it. ” He can’t trust him.

“No, Frank. You are out of custody, and you can use all the resources you have. And I can help you, using those I have, You are in no danger of guards killing you, I am not bound to procedure anymore.” He insists “you stop this nonsense killing, and we go after the ones who gave the order”

“You can keep all that bullshit for you before you run out of it. I ain’t stopping.” He bites at him “You know, for the devil you are awfully against killin’.”

Murdock chuckles. Frank grows irritated and takes off the safety of his gun. And the other son of a bitch just keeps on smiling, even wider now.

“The devil does not kill Frank, he punishes. He… huh” the corner of his lips turn up sharply, meaningfully.

“What? Wait, you calling me the devil now? That’s so fucking rich coming from you”

Murdock expression turns sober, tired.

“No, Frank. The devil does not kill, he punishes. And punishing others is _his_ punishment” The devil seems sad as he says this.

Frank almost wavers, but he is too in control of his body to allow himself that. Murdock appears to notice as he takes a step closer. And then another. And so on until Frank’s gun is pressing against his chest. Franks almost forgets he is blind; he moves so sure there are no obstacles between them.

“Is this your punishment, Frank? Are you guilty of something? Do you _feel_ guilty?” he asks softly. Frank’s heart skips a beat at the tone, as he remembers all the things he has done, in here, in Afghanistan and finds he is guilty of oh so many things. And Murdock knows this as he whispers “Hell is on earth, Frank”

_“It is forsaken, Frank. It is I only who wanders this place. I am the only one left in here” _

The words echo as the memory is brought back. Frank stares at the devil’s eyes and they are unseeing. He pulls the trigger, and nothing comes out. He lets his arm fall to his side, defeated.

“Im gonna kill ‘em you know. When we find the ones who gave the order, I’ll kill ‘em”

Pearly white teeth show themselves in between a red lips as a relieved smile comes to life.

“We’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it”

Murdock guides him to his apartment. Frank recognizes it immediately; he was here before after all, during the fever dream. This arrangement came to be as Frank refused to show any of his safe houses to Murdock, and Murdock believed it when Frank told him he would not feed the information of where he lived to third parties. Frank wasn’t lying when he said it, but it unnerves him that Murdock trusted him that easily

It was incredibly bare, high ceilings, and a hellish billboard shining behind the windows, bathing the apartment with all types of colored lights like the cheapest and shittiest aurora borealis the market had to offer. Frank said so out loud and it startled a laugh out of Murdock.

“I don’t even know where the light switches are, to be honest. You’ll have to find them yourself if you want to see”

Frank grumbled and muttered insults, but apparently he didn’t say them as low as he thought, because Murdock started to laugh at them. Quite the giggly fellow, considering he is Satan and all.

Once they were comfortably seated and Frank found out only one of the light on the ceiling worked properly. Murdock showed him the information he had, and they started to cross reference it. Murdock had studied the background of the first guard that assaulted Frank, and Frank had a lot of info on the second. Soon enough they realized a lot of info overlapped and made a list of people involved.

A few minutes before sunrise, Frank left.

It became some sort of routine, although not daily. Murdock received him at his apartment and helped him with whatever he could on Monday and Wednesday nights, as he still had a day job. He always looked tired, though. But Frank didn’t care.

Murdock, Frank realized, had never called him Mr. Castle after he stopped being his lawyer, and the familiarity of the treatment was annoying. But if Murdock noticed it only served to amuse him.

Tonight Murdock was dozing off, about to drop down. He startles himself awake midair, and stubbornly goes back to researching. He ran out of coffee yesterday and was too busy to buy some more, so now he is running on willpower alone. Murdock nods off again. Irritated, Frank sinks his arm into his back pack and comes out with a Monster can. He offers it, shakes it and the sounds catches Murdock’s attention.

“What’s this can of?”

“Energy drink. Tastes like ass. Take it” he orders. Murdock grabs in and chugs it down, when he is done he grimaces.

“Tastes like taurine, sodium citrate, panax ginseng root extract, L-carnitine, L-tartarate, caffeine, sorbic acid and… bezoic acid? This is awful.”

Frank looks at him wide eyed, takes back the can and reads the ingredients on the label. He whistles, impressed.

“You are so fucking weird, you know that?”

Murdock smiles at him and shrugs.

“You’ve got no idea”

A few times Frank slipped out and called him Matt and got weirdly uncomfortable about it. But Murdock never said anything about it and responded as if nothing had happened.

Soon after over a month of silence the news started to forget about their local terrorist, madman, and mass murderer. And like cockroaches after sunset criminal activity began to flourish once again.

Finally, they had to go out and pick some information from actual people, instead of hacking or revising old documents. The Irish mob was trying to make a comeback with the meager members that had left and so was recruiting. Finding out where the current leaders where was only a matter of stopping by and ask questions nicely, or so Frank said. No reason to bring a blind man for the trip (that might or might not be Lucifer himself, at this point Frank again was not so sure).

“...And besides. If they see your face they’ll come out for you, or Nelson and Page. I’ll go alone, with nobody to drag me down, I’ll get info and come back, alright?” he said patronizingly with fully intent of pissing Matt off, which was quite hard apparently. Matt only always got horribly exasperated with him, but only pissed off and downright angry when he brought into the table the options of just finishing these bastards off.

“It’s alright” Matt shrugged “I’ll just use the mask”

“Mask” he repeated.

“Sure, the devil’s mask”

Frank stopped on his tracks.

“You gonna freak the shit out of them if you show there with your horns and hooves, Murdock”

That startled another laugh out of Murdock. Frank did that a lot, make him laugh, and it somehow pleased him. Matt was quite good at giving fake smiles. But while talking on the phone with Nelson or Page he was always smiling genuinely. Frank recognized soon enough after it began to happen that Matt smiled genuinely at him as well.

“I’ve heard that Daredevil’s suit is not actually that scary if you look at it long enough”

Frank blinked.

“The fuck you talking about, Murdock. You gonna go as Evil Knivle?”

Matt snorted derisively. Frank didn’t understood what was so funny. He tried to get pissed off, but Matt’s laugh was deep and yet a bit bubbly, it wasn’t a bad sound. But it had become a bit annoying feeling like Murdock was sometime on a jock Frank wasn’t on.

“Funny, Frank. I’ll go change and then we’ll go, alright?” he began to walk away but Frank exclaimed:

“What the fuck are you talking about!”

Murdock stopped, turned around and stood really still.

“Oh, you are not kidding”

“I’m not kidding about _what_! Goddammit hurry up and talk”

Matt tilted his head, like a goddam dog does when it doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on, and then said calmingly:

“You do know I’m Daredevil, right? As in, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” Frank did not know. Frank actually thought that Matt was actually Satan walking on earth (although sometimes he wasn’t too sure, it is after all quite the jump of logic).

“You are that vigilante, the one who dress in red and fucks around beating people up” Frank said with deadpan voice.

“I am” said Murdock unashamedly. Then couldn’t hold it in anymore and smiled wildly “Did you think I was the actual Devil, Frank? Lucifer, the bringer of light, as your lawyer?”

Frank did not answer and yet in the silence it was as if Matt could hear his thoughts, and he burst out laughing, bending over, and grabbing at his stomach.

He didn’t seem to stop anytime soon. So Frank packed all his shit and off he went..

Matt tracked him down, and as soon as Frank saw him, the little shit began laughing again. This time, Matt was wearing a form fitting red battle suit, it had horns and everything and Frank puffed out a laugh as well.

“You look ridiculous, Murdock”

“Really? I can’t tell”

“You really went down with the whole ‘devil’ concept didn’t you? Wearing all red and even little horns ”

Matt scrunches his nose.

“Red you say? I specifically asked sapphire and pink as my theme. I got cheated” Frank shakes his head, smiling warmly.

“Shut up, Red. Come and help me bash some skulls”

Murdock hummed.

“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s just kidnap them, and you threaten body harm and ask them questions, alright? I’ll tell you if they are lying.”

“And how you plan on doing that, red?”

“Listening to their heartbeats”

“Well, obviously. But see, I forgot to bring my stethoscope, so bashing skulls it is. Or shooting at kneecaps if skull bashing hurts you sensibilities”

Matt laughed again, delighted, the little shit.

“I have great hearing Frank. I can hear you heartbeat from miles”

Frank stopped walking,

“You shitting me”

“Shit you not” All that ridiculous cowl he wears shows is only the lower part of his face, but that’s enough to know what expression Murdock has right now. He is smiling a bit smugly, having fun at Frank’s expenses.

“Are you sure you are not the devil?”

Murdock doesn’t answer and walks on ahead.

They kidnap a guy while he takes a piss break outside. The moment he zips up, Murdock kicks him on the head and renders him unconscious.

When Franks argues that his way did include bashing skulls anyways and that he suspected that all that Murdock did had the aim to piss him off, Murdock answered seriously that his attack was completely calculated and it doesn't s count as bashing if done with his foot.

They tie the guy up in a chair, a few miles away from where they took him. Murdock knows the guy’s awake even before Frank hears him groan. The man swallows audibly the moment he sees Frank and begs that he let him live. Then he sees Daredevil at his back and begins to shake.

Frank punches him and grabs him by the hair, and so begins the interrogation. He asks where the new base of operations is.

“I- I don’t know” the guy whimpers.

“Lie” snarls Murdock and for a second Frank thought it was another man speaking. His voice was gravelly, much like Frank’s own sounds when he is pissed. Rough and aggressive but with Matt’s usual timber underneath.

Frank strikes the guy again. He cries out loud, and Frank repeats his question.

“Where’s the new base of operation?”

“Broo- Brooklyn.”

“_Lie._” The whisper sounds closer than before. Murdock is standing menacingly two feet away. The man glances up and stares right at the masks eyes.

“It’s in Brooklyn! I swear to God is there!”

Frank knows what Murdock will say now, and huffs exasperated in anticipation.

“Thou shalt not take thy Lord’s name in vain” Murdock quotes, just as Frank thought, the diva.

Daredevil smirks. He presses a gloved finger on the guy’s jugular and the poor bastard sobs.

Frank asks again, taking out a gun yet not pointing. At its sight, the guy inhales shakily and looks around wildly.

“Where is it?” murmurs Frank menacingly.

“Queens! Nearing queens! There’s an old hotel, they meet there!” Matt nods at him, and the man begins to sing.

They repeat this method until the guy has nothing else to say. Matt hits him again, and the man drops down like he was dead, but he is still breathing, albeit unsteadily.

“You broke his zygomatic bone and cracked his ribs, but he’s not badly hurt.” Murdock informs him as they leave.

“What a pussy, that can’t even count as torture”

“They get nervous when they realize they can’t lie, that helps a lot. But yeah, guy was a wuss.”

They go out a few more times, moving up ranks and then to other gangs

Matthew Murdock can deny it all he wants. But Frank thinks he is as close as the devil as one can get without being necessarily evil. He is an absolute savage when it comes to interrogating. He is precise, strikes where it hurts the most, where it bleeds enough to scare, enough to bring out the fear of dying at his hands. He moves like a shadow, in the dark, always out of sight and attacks like a predator. He fights as if he can read people’s moves before they make them, his senses five seconds into the future. It’s graceful, and it could be just as deadly. But Matt never strikes to kill.

Frank realizes he is grateful they both are so different. Or else it’d be too easy to drag each other down.

No matter how much he fights, stalks, tortures. Matthew never seems perturbed. Even Frank was the first time he saw a torture, although part of it was at the fact that he wasn’t as perturbed as he should, as some others were.

Sometimes Matt reminds Frank a bit of Billy. When he smiles charmingly, laughs at him, unafraid. Knowing that, if Frank were to retaliate, he could take him down.

Unlike Billy, Matt wears a stupid battle suit with horns, and enjoys making people think he is the devil. Like is some inner joke of his. In Frank’s opinion he is the most devilish while he is in his lawyer outfit; suit and tie and neatly styled hair; he pretends to be clumsy and helpless, and hides how easily he could snap the necks of everybody in any room he enters.

Also, unlike Billy, Matt has never crossed the line and he has never seemed to want to; his hands remain clean.

There are three more guards who are compromised. Two have families, but one is divorced. His name is Mason H. Smith and he lives in an apartment right above a sushi restaurant. So they decide to pay him a visit after he is done working. They climb to the rooftop and wait for him to arrive.

Matt informs him out of nowhere that down at the restaurant someone made a mistake and added too much vinegar in the rice.

“You speak Japanese now, Red?”

“A little bit. But most of the people working there aren’t even Asian. Guy who made the mistake had a Florida accent and his last name was Suarez”

“Huh”

Matt didn’t put on his Daredevil suit today, said it was too notorious for the mission and Frank agreed. They were in a pretty public place after all and a man with a devil costume would catch everybody’s attention.

It was getting cold, the Sun had set about an hour ago and Smith still wasn’t there. They took advantage of it and got inside the building through the roof access. There were cameras in the hallways but they were old and had a lot of blind spots; even then, being recorded was unavoidable so they were careful to hide their faces.

They reached Mason Smith’s door. Frank leaned on it, tucking his chin so he wouldn’t be easily recognized if someone were to revise the videos, and also covered Matt as he crouched and picked the locket in record time.

Once they were in, Matt broke every light bulb in the room and Frank registered the place. It was neat and had nothing incriminating.

“Help me knock on the Walls” Said Matt.

“What for?”

“To listen to the vibrations” It felt as if he wanted add an “_obviously, dumbass” _to that sentence. Like Frank knew how his dolphin powers worked. He huffed and started knocking on the walls.

“Feeling anything in your sonar, Red?”

“Not yet” he grunted, annoyed. Frank went to the bedroom and knocked softly on the wall behind the bed.

“Hit there again!” shouted Matt from the kitchen, and he obeyed. Matt ran and jumped on the bed and started taping softly with his fingers to the space near the ceiling. He touched the wallpaper, grabbed a knife from his pocket, and cut it off. There was a small hole in the wall hidden behind a piece of fake wood. There was a gun, an USB memory and a bundle of cash.

Matt grinned at Frank and he grinned back. They pocketed the drive, and Frank kept the gun and money, much to Murdock’s disapproval.

“If we ain’t killing the guy I’m taking a souvenir. It’s compensation”

“You are so full of shit, Castle” that pulls a chuckle out of Frank. Matt is still grinning.

They register the house for more guns, Matt finds them quickly, since he can smell the metal and gunpowder. Frank keeps those too.

Smith arrives a few minutes later carrying groceries; he puts them on the floor beside the door and closes it. Goes to turn on the lights but they do not work, he tries flipping up and down the switch repeatedly.

“Oh dammit” Mason curses in a resigned voice and goes to try and turn on a lamp, Frank moves silently and strikes him from behind. Mason drops with a dry noise, dragging the lamp with him and his face gets cut on the glass that was left on the floor.

They decide to tie him to the bed’s feet, all his chairs are plastic and they might break if it gets a bit too rough. Matt’s listening on the sounds of the city, awfully concentrated; coking his head every time he hears something he finds interesting. It’s kinda endearing.

“He is awake” he whispers eventually, not a second later Mason moans.

“This is how you treat your guests, Mason?” mocks Frank gruffly “Took you too long waking up, I was bored out of my mind”

Smith recognizes him instantly

“Ca-Castle!”

“Yeah, man, that’s right”

“What do you want? What are you doing here?”

“We’ve got some questions, if you don’t mind” answers Matt. Mason turns abruptly towards him.

“Who –Who are you?”

“Unimportant” Intervenes Frank “Now, Mason, this how’s gonna go. I’m gonna ask you something, if you don’t answer with the truth, I will smack your face. Got it?” Mason nods rapidly. “Alright. Who send the order to kill me?”

“I- I don- I don’t know” Frank makes a show of looking at him, head to toes. He straightens himself up and glances at Matt over his shoulder.

“Does he know, Red?”

“Yeah, he does”

Frank punches him on the face, rendering unconscious again, blood splats onto the mattress. Matt sighs.

“Was that necessary? Now we’ve got to keep on waiting” he says disapprovingly.

Frank shrugs.

“Guy pisses me off. And he was a pain while I was locked up, ate my fruit in front of me”

“I heard a tooth breaking. You might want to take it out his mouth before he chokes”

When Mason wakes up he can barely speak, he is gurgling blood and sobbing. Matt brings him a glass of water to rinse his mouth and carefully helps him drink it.

“The, ah, the warden brought a man once, told me and some others that he was a second figure of authority or something. That he’d give us some jobs to do, jobs that him, th-the warden, wouldn’t know about. But if –if we did them we’d be –he said that he’d give us money”

“What kind of jobs”

“Stuff like, like starting rumors, like ‘this inmate is a snitch’ Or to let it slip that someone used to be a cop. Sometimes, we had to -to get rid of a few, make it look like an accident. Not very often tho” Frank leans into mason’s space, menacingly. Mason whimpers.

“I see. What’s the man’s name?”

“I don’t know”

“He’s telling the truth” whispers Matt.

Frank nods at him and takes a step back from Mason

“What’s in the pen drive?”

“Wh-what drive?”

“The one you kept hidden on the hole on your wall!” Frank shouts

“O-oh! I don’t know. It’s encrypted. Jason gave it to me before you killed him. He said it was insurance” He stutters. Frank is about to strike him again, but Matt stops him.

“He is telling the truth, Frank”

“Fuck!” he hisses. He takes out a gun and points at Mason Smith’s head. “You know how to decipher it?”

“N-no!”

“Shame” he pulls the trigger, but he doesn’t hit Mason as Matt kicked him on the wrist. He drops the gun, it clatters audibly on the ground.

“We said no killing!”

“Fine! Dammit” His hand hurts, but he knows it’s not broken; he picks up the weapon again and puts in in his pants. “Happy? Now let’s go. We gotta leave before someone calls the cops”

“You should’ve thought about the cops before you shot at him!”

Frank grunts and doesn’t answer, instead he leaves. Matt follows a minute later. He is pretty sure Mason pissed his pants.

“Did you set him free?”

“Of course I did” Murdock mutters and walks ahead. Frank doesn’t try to catch up.

Frank comes to the apartment and finds Murdock asleep on the table, surrounded by documents. Frank walks closer and Matt doesn’t even register it. They’d been working together for 3 months now. No criminal has died no matter how much Franks wants to, how much he itches to aim and shoot. Murdock just seems to know when Frank feels the urge to kill coming, and he grabs his wrist holding it firmly. Once he even tripped him and Frank almost fell face flat on the ground, but landed on his hand and threw a kick at Murdock. The Devil jumped away and laughed.

Murdock doesn’t snore, apparently. Maria did, albeit softly, he remembers. Frank touches the pages, trying to tell the difference between dots and can’t distinguish any letter for shit, not if he is not looking at them.

Matthew hums and his eyes flutter open. His eyelashes are long: that is the first thing Frank notices before there’s a fist coming right at his face. Murdock stands impossibly fast. Frank dodges but doesn’t see the next kick soon enough and can’t do nothing but block it.

“For fucks sake, Red!”

Murdock stills.

“Frank?”

“Yeah.” He grunts, examining his arm. He walks and sits on the nearest couch. Murdock remains unmoving facing where Frank once stood.

“I didn’t know that was you”

“I figured. If you are so tired then why don’t you take a nap, I can work alone”

“I am so sorry, Frank”

Frank rolls his eyes.

“It’s fine, Red. Now move your ass”

“I attacked you, I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, yeah. Told you its fine. Now shut up”

“Frank”

“I know, I get it. It’s _fine_” He said intently. Murdock swallowed and nodded. Instead of going to his room, he sat again and began to read through the papers

Frank understood. After his second tour he punched Maria on the face when she woke him up from a nightmare. He apologized for weeks, couldn’t stand touching her or the children for a time as well, too afraid he might hurt them. Maria never woke him up from bad dreams again.

Matt looks haunted now, this bothered him more than imparting torture, and Frank doesn’t know what to do with that information.

They sat in silence and Murdock resumed with his reading. He put on his glasses while Frank wasn’t looking, but he can see how affected he is on the set of his jaw. Murdock is still thinking about it. So Frank takes a can of coke out of his bag and throws it his face, Matt catches it right before it hits his forehead, he makes an offended expression.

“Caffeine” Frank murmurs not looking up, opening a laptop. He doesn’t see Matt smile.

“Aren’t you the sweetest” he says wryly and goes to open the can on the kitchen sink. A spray of cola explodes up abruptly. Frank frowns, disappointed. “I can hear the bubbles inside, you know”

“Wet blanket” answers Frank. Matthew chuckles and drinks what’s left.

Frank looks at him and the way his Adam apple bobs up and down when he swallows. His shirt’s first two buttons are open; Fran’s eyes wander to the curve of Matt’s lower back, to his ass, and to those long legs. He looks good, even while cleaning his lips with his sleeve like a child. Frank suddenly feels like shit.

He always thought that Murdock was handsome. Handsome enough to make him believe he was Lucifer -Made to tempt. And now he has seen him smile, laugh so happily at Frank being an insufferable asshole. He just saw him asleep, defenseless and soft; something Matt never allows himself to be.

Matthew is so good though; the dumbass actually believes in salvation and that Frank can achieve it. That he can be forgiven for what he’s done, and even more, that he actually deserves it even when he doesn’t want it.

You have to want it for it to be granted though, you’ve got to repent.

And now that Frank has seen it, he can’t unseen it. He realizes that this is how it feels when someone has so much faith on you: a bit addicting, like love is.

Frank is not the only one Matt dedicates his time on helping, though. He always has an ear trained on the outside. More than once their reunions have been interrupted by Matt tilting his head, followed by him grabbing what looks like a black scarf and running out the streets heading for someone screaming, crying, or softly praying in between sobs. He comes back with bloody knuckles and a grim expression, but his back is straight and he walks with what looks like satisfaction.

Murdock joins him once again and sits in front of him with a relaxed position

He helps Frank not because there’s something to gain, but because is the right thing to do. He didn’t know his family, he barely knows Frank, and yet here he is, sacrificing his own time and resources, burning bridges, all so Frank will stop killing, even though he knows Frank won’t stop.

Later when he leaves he thinks he won’t be back ever again. He can’t get attached, especially not to someone who might die so easily while helping him, someone Frank is willing to kill if he gets in his way.

He still comes back, if he doesn’t Murdock will track him down anyways so, why bother, he tells himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got bored and wrote the second chapter in record time, so there might be a few mistakes. I saw the Punisher, both seasons, and it was INTENSE. Frank’s a beast and I love him. I also came to love Billy, he has everything: he is pretty, violent, manipulative and unstable. That’s like, all I like in a character. I also came to really like Madani, she is like a baby duck who with time becomes corrupted and really fucked up, and I’m into that as well. And now inseason 2 she is not longer a corrupted duck, she is now a beautiful swan.
> 
> Next chapter might be not come as fast, since I gotta do stuff, like studying for midterms. It will also be from Matt’s Pov.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt has the seed of them gay thoughts inside his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real content, but this fic is trying to have a taste of plot. A whiff of it.  
Also, I sometimes forget to write some words and some letters, so sorry about that.

3.

Foggy made him promise he’d stay tonight with him in the office until they finished wrapping up Mrs. Mercedes case. _No_ _daredeviling this night, young man!_ And Matt was feeling too much like a piece of shit lately to say no. He was walking back home now, taking the long road just in case he hears something to justify some “daredeviling”; Foggy can’t get angry if Matt finds by accident some thug beating a poor old man down or something.

The night is quiet. There was a shooting an hour ago, but Foggy literally sat on him until Matt stopped squirming and promised that he wouldn’t go check on what was happening. But after that is as silent as Hell’s Kitchen can get.

He hears a grunt and a muffled whimper, and smells the faint scent of gun smoke and blood two blocks to his left. He goes as fast as he can while keeping the clueless blind man act. He stops where he knows there’s an alleyway. A heart is beating loud yet steady, a Man’s. He seems to be big yet fit by the sound of it. His breathing is shallow and he smells like pain, sweat, trash and blood.

Matt can feel the man’s eyes on him.

“You commin’ here for my soul?” the man croaks, voice rough and shaky and with a hint of a smile “give me more time and I will give you some real good reasons to impart eternal punishment on me.”

The streetlight blinks behind him.

“What happened, sir?” he asks stepping closer, but the man collapses before he can answer. The smell of blood intensifies. He smells too much of it to be a good person, Matt muses, if it all belonged to him he’d be long dead. Matt can hear the sound of knives brushing inside the man’s clothes as he breathes. A loaded shotgun falls from his pocket. Matt is about to call the police, but then the man whimpers and whispers something that sounds like _“I’m so sorry sweetheart”_

And suddenly Matt thinks of Jack Murdock dead on a street, shot in the head while coming home, never to see his son again.

So, on his shoulder he carries the man to his loft. He’s gotten rid of everything he had first and put it inside a dumpster, but the stranger was still too heavy. An inch taller than Matt and all muscle. It takes him about half an hour to get there. He’s called Claire before he arrived and she is waiting for him. She helps him haul the man onto the sofa and treats his wound silently; Matt can feel her apprehension, and regrets calling her so late. He apologizes for the trouble.

“That’s no what’s bothering me, Matt” she assures him “It’s just… You must have a damn good reason to bring The Punisher to your home and make me treat him”

Matt clicks his mouth shut and raises his eyebrows.

“The what?”

“The Pu- Oh for Christ’s sake, Matthew! You didn’t know who he was?!” she hissed standing up abruptly.

“I didn’t recognize his face?” he tries. He can tell Claire is glaring at him. She throws a dirty rag at him and he lets it hit his chest before catching it.

“You are hopeless, Murdock”

“I’m really grateful you came to help me Claire” He hears her eyes narrow. It was not a pleasant sound but it was quite easy to recognize.

“What will you do with him? We should call the police”

Matt bites his lip, pensive. The Punisher’s breathing was steady now, the smell of blood weaker.

Frank Castle mumbled through the entire journey to Matt’s place. He whispered about the devil.

“I need to speak to him. I think he might know who I am”

Claire stilled and Matt heard her as she took a sharp breath.

“You are in danger”

“No. I’m not sure. But I need to speak with him. Besides, I can handle him, especially if he is like this”

She nods and whispers a soft “Alright, Matt”

When The Punisher wakes up he seems to not know who Matt is, and that’s a relief. He is still in his couch though, awake and exuding the intent of violence. Thankfully he passes out from the pain eventually.

Matt calls Foggy and asks him if he can help him get rid of a body.

“Yeah, buddy, sure” he croaks since Matt just woke him up. “Wait. Matt, did you kill someone? You know I will help you get rid of whatever body you have; we swore we’d do as much for each other back in college. But I need to know who it is”

Matt smiled, he remembered that night fondly.

“You’ll find out once you get here. And don’t worry, he is alive”

When he arrived, Foggy was not happy to find out he was going to have to carry The Punisher down to the nearest precinct. Matt just tells him to grab the unconscious man’s feet. They had 20 minutes until sunrise and they had to move fast.

The moment the first sunray came out, Foggy suggested to just dropping the Punisher and get the hell away. Matt heard people coming, opening their curtains, many buses were working already. He considered all these facts and nodded. They promptly left Frank Castle on the ground and called the police, telling them there was a dead hobo on the sidewalk.

Mrs. Mercedes Díaz was a plump Argentinian lady who came to New York to live with her son and daughter in law two years ago, after her husband passed. She got conned and had now a debt of 15k, which she couldn’t pay. It wasn’t a hard case to win, but it included a shitton of paperwork. Matt thought his fingertips would get calloused after all that reading. Foggy banged his head on his desk every 5 minutes, Karen was bored out of her mind. It was all worth it though.

Mercedes only spoke Spanish, so Matt had to not only work in her case but also translate everything she said. Which was hard since Argentinian Spanish was a tad different from what he was taught in college. He managed anyways.

She hugged all three of them in thanks. Her son shook their hands and promised to transfer money by the end of the day. Matt knew he was telling the truth. It was all in all a good day, despite his nightly adventure and the morning hike. Foggy was chirp as well, and offered to invite tonight’s drinks.

Karen had been quiet, reading through the papers and researching in her laptop. But she smiled and thanked him.

Late, while they were enjoying a pleasant buzz at Josie’s bar, she dropped a bomb.

“Have you heard about Frank Castle?”

Foggy’s heart jumped and Matt had the childish impulse of replying _“I can’t hear, I’m blind” _But instead he nodded demurely and prompter her to continue.

“There’s something fishy about what happened to him, to his family. I want to look more into it, if you’d agree”

Both Matt and Foggy knew that giving their approval for her to satisfy her curiosity was the same as getting into a brakeless car with her on the wheel. They trusted her enough to know she’ll manage to stop safely despite the circumstances. But there was a high possibility of crashing.

“Yes, of course” Foggy answered.

Soon after, they had to charm Frank’s defendant, which was not hard; the guy was tired. His baby wouldn’t let him sleep and Frank Castle’s case was going to be as spectacular as it was going to be time consuming. And had to sort out his priorities, if not for his daughter at least for his wife, he reasoned.

During their first meeting with their new client, Matt was running late. He stopped two armed robberies that night and one kidnap attempt. He pulled old stitches and had to sew them again, afterwards he passed out from exhaustion. He was only 10 minutes late though, Foggy was waiting for him with Frank. Matt could hear their conversations since he entered the building. Once he arrived, he introduced himself.

In answer, Frank Castle showed him his canines and spat:

“Hello, Satan”

_Well, fuck. _Thought Matt as he smiled patiently:

“Please, Mr. Castle. There’s no need to be rude, I’m a catholic”

He can hear Castle pray; he does so when he is asleep, it is not much of a pray as it is mumbling the names of the dead. Matt visits him twice as Daredevil, always at night. He stands outside of the facility where Frank is imprisoned. He localizes his heart beat in between the sea of sound and listens as he apologizes over and over again to his Wife. He always wakes up abruptly, drags in a shake breath, and then keeps quiet.

Matt feels like breaking.

There’s a method to his madness. Or maybe Frank is not mad at all. It is not arbitrary killing, which doesn’t necessarily make it better. But in Matt’s eyes, somehow it does, he admits to himself reluctantly. There’s something noble in the Punisher’s deeds.

He is hurt, and so he retaliates, but there’s never collateral damage. As if every bullet had a name belonging a list. One for every individual who was involved on the massacre of his family.

Frank is antagonistic in every meeting. But he doesn’t always mean it, sometimes is just him distrusting them, and being annoyed at their persistence. He is, though, always sitting straight when they arrive, waiting almost eagerly to hear whatever they’ve got to tell him.

He doesn’t care much about his trial; he is only interested on what they and Karen have found out about if his family’s death was planned. When they try to bring up arguments to use to lighten his sentence he shuts down and refuses to speak, sometimes even threating them if they insist.

It all goes to shit when he is attacked. Someone is trying to shut him up, desperately. And they’ve got enough balls and resources to do so. Foggy is as stressed as he was the week before his bar exam, Karen has not slept in days. They ask Marci Stahl if she can give them the number of one of her contacts but she refuses vehemently.

“If what you are saying is true then it’s also incredibly dangerous. I can turn a blind eye for you, but I can’t get involved” She looks apologetic, Matt can tell she is stressed. They do not ask again.

Matt catches someone following him twice. He also hears the same breathing pattern and heartbeat, and the same faint smell in the air about 5 times. He is being observed. And Foggy and Karen probably are, too.

Then, Frank kills his guard and escapes. He shot him right in an artery and then proceeded to smother him with a pillow. Matt finds this strange, but doesn’t try to find a meaning behind it.

The guard’s family gives testimony; the wife cries loudly, the son hides his face on her neck. Frank is all over the news, and he is back killing. Matt needs to stop him.

He tracks him down in a day, following his smell, to a safe house. Frank’s not there, he is constantly moving and he is out every night. Matt hears him miles away but does not approach him. Mostly because of the fact that if Frank is locked down he’ll be an easy target to whoever wants to get their hands of him. If Matt brings him into the police, he might be as well as be killing him.

There’s only one other choice. Or at least, only one other path his is willing to follow. For now.

He doesn’t wear his daredevil suit; he is not out tonight to serve justice. He is out as Frank’s lawyer, as someone who wants to help him. The air tastes of blood and ammonia, and the vibrations that came from over 30 guns shooting remain still in the air, as the ghost of an echo. Matt can feel them on his hair.

He finds Frank while he speaks to his wife, facing the Hudson. Shuddering, his voice is a soft rumble. He isn’t speaking loud, but the wind carries his voice directly into Matt’s ears, as if he is whispering into his ear.

He is not here to intrude though, he did not mean to. He is here to offer a deal.

They begin a partnership of sorts, delaying an unavoidable clash of worldviews and morals. This is all Matt can do for now, all that Frank will let him do at least.

After deciphering Mason Smith’s drive, they realize his insurance was some documents that indicated large sums of money were being passed around for no real justifiable reason. They only had names to go by, and a couple were shell corporations.

After this discovering Matt missed work two days in a row, he had to dedicate his time to following suspects and gathering information by listening to their conversation. He had to do this during day time, and told Foggy to cover for him. His friend did not ask the reason although he obviously desperately wanted to, but he did nag at him, then he asked worriedly if he wasn’t bleeding out in his couch. Matt told him he was fine, to please not to worry, he promised he was not hurt.

Frank thought they were gross, but Frank was annoyed that Matt had told him to stay hidden while he worked, since someone might recognize him if they saw him, so whatever he thought did not matter

“There’s a man selling helium balloons near central park” he told him bitterly while putting on his jacket. “Go buy one, hold it. That’s the weight your opinions carry for me”

“Kiss my ass”

Foggy has no idea what Matt has gotten into, and Matt will not tell him unless he finds himself under extreme circumstances. He does so to keep him and Karen safe. If they are right, he is getting involved in a conspiracy that will probably put his life in danger. Even if he promised Foggy to never lie to him again, even by omission. He does not count this as lying though; he is just keeping Frank’s secrets.

That weekend he hears someone walk into his building, but it does not registers as Karen since she is not wearing heels today, but sneakers, and Matt’s not familiar with the sound they make with her gait. He recognized her heartbeat only when she was already near his door. Frank is still there, he didn’t leave last night, they pulled an all-nighter working on their investigation; if he tries to leave now he’ll meet face to face with Karen.

“Quick, Frank. Go hide” he hisses, gathering the papers. Frank looks sharply at him and snaps shut his laptop.

“Someone coming, Red?”

“Karen is here”

“One of your blondies?”

“Yes, Frank. Leave through the roof access door. Now!”

He stands up. But Karen is already making her way in. Frank goes into his room instead and closes the door. She walks through the hallway, rustling some bags.

“Who’s there?” shouts Matt. Karen stops.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, it’s me. I texted you I was coming”

“Did you? I didn’t see it” Karen makes a sound like an exasperated groan, but not quite so, showing restraint.

“Were you busy?” She asks, now near him “What are you reading?”

“Oh, just investigating” he stands up and smiles at her “did you need something?”

She hums and looks around.

“Who else is here, Matt?”

He widens his eyes, and he decides to play innocent “What, do you see someone else?”

“Heard you talking. You sounded kind of panicked”

He tries to smile. “There’s no one else here”

“Uh huh” she answers dubiously “Sure. Anyways, I brought you some stuff. Foggy told me you were sick. You are… not drinking again, are you?”

“No, no. I promise.”

“Alright, I’ll leave this in your kitchen and I’ll get out of your hair. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything”

“You didn’t interrupt anything. I’m, I’m alone”

Karen raises an eyebrow, and tries to convey all her incredulity in her voice.

“You are not fooling anyone” She makes her way to his bedroom and opens the sliding panel it half way. “Who’s the guy sleeping in your bed then?” she sounds amused.

Frank, apparently, when he heard her coming closer, took off his shirt and shoes and got inside the covers, hiding his head under a pillow. Matt could hear his heart thumping hard. He was fake snoring.

Matt swallows, relieved. “A… friend?”

Karen snorts and softly closes the panel shut “It’s alright Matt, I’ll support you” she assures him, squeezing his shoulder. “Does Foggy know?”

He grins weakly at her.

“Yeah. Found out a while ago” He croaks, a bit ashamed, and then recovers. “I go both ways though, so don’t worry, you still have a chance”

She giggles and kisses his cheek, then leaves. The moment she is out, Frank snorts a laugh. Matt joins him.

The smell of Frank’s aftershave lingers on his bed, and he is too tired to wash the sheets and pull out some new ones. Anyways, it’s a nice smell, although a bit unfamiliar in comparison with his own. Matt’s fine with that.

It remains on his nostrils as he wakes up and for a second he is sure Frank is still here, now close. But there’s no heat in the room beside his and the morning sun’s, and the scent lacks the heartbeat that Matt has associated with it. It is a feeling quite similar to disappointment the one that fills him then.

He wonders when he got so used to Frank’s presence that now the lack of it grates him more than how his company did at the beginning of their acquaintanceship.

Sometimes Matt thinks of how easily would be to hate Frank. He is not the easiest person to deal with; he gets angry easily and he is stubborn as a mule. There are moments in which Matt talks to him, and even though he can hear him and smell him, sense he is standing in front of him, he wonders if maybe Frank left a while ago and he is just talking to some after image of him, the asshole.

He’s not only build like a wall, he also behaves like one.

Frank’s never optimistic. He cracks jokes, he mocks and he taunts, he plays dirty trying to catch Matt by surprise, throwing things at him. But he is never happy. His blood is always at almost boiling point. It isn’t like with Foggy, who chooses to always see the brighter side of every situation, and then believe in it. If he wasn’t like that he’d ditched Matt long ago.

Karen’s different as well, she sees the world from a different point of view to all of them. She is always empathetic, and between the three of them she is the one who sees the world in every shade of gray there is.

Matt unlike all three of them, believes there’s good in people, in all kinds of people. He wants to believe there’s good in him, too. And he does, sometimes; when Foggy’s joking by his side, Karen snorts gracelessly into her drink; and Matt belongs there, in between them.

But then he’s alone in bed, and the sirens are so loud; they overlap the cries and the screams. And there are laughs, some are happy, some are cruel. He hears the mice sniffing rotten food that fell of a dumpster down a near alley. The cacophony almost enough to make him toe the line of insanity.

Later, he is running, he is punching criminals. He stops robberies and drug deals from happening. The blood rushing and his heartbeat are the loudest things he hears.

_Murdock boys, they’ve got the devil in them_.

He feels it lurking inside him, ready to strike when unleashed.

It is like, no matter where he goes, what he does. Ever since his birth, the devil’s shadow clings to his. He wonders if he had chosen another path, if he’d done anything else with his life, would he have been just another Murdock boy. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Daredevil.

When Frank first saw him he thought “ah, so this is Satan” apparently, and although it was hilarious at first Matt can’t help but ask himself if it might mean something else.

He knows he’d always end up like this, maybe even if he never had had the accident that robbed him from his sight. He’d have found another way to set free whatever hides under his skin, that thing that slithers out his wounds when he bleeds.

Frank does not hide it; he wears it over his shoulders and lives in synchrony with it. Matt feels safe when he is with him, because he knows how close he is to being like Frank, and yet he sees him there in front of him and they are so different. Frank can be saved; he knows as much, he believes there’s good in Frank.

Frank’s no monster, he is just a man who picked himself up and glued all his pieces together, and now they creak and complain, and threaten to fall apart when he moves. But he remains, and he is whole.

Working with Frank is tiring and far from fulfilling. And despite that they usually get on well: Matt has nothing to hide, they are not friends, and so he has nothing to fear, Frank won’t go away. He can be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen as well as Matt Murdock at the same time with no need of hiding. Frank does not reproaches him when Matt meets him bruised, and he does not care if Matt dies. It’s liberating, to be completely honest. Almost as if there were no consequences.

Frank does not fret like Foggy, does not worry like Karen, does not look at him in disapproval like Claire does. Matt can go out every night if he wants and deliver every criminal he finds to the police’s gates, and then come back to the same snark and assholery of old.

And if Matt shows some measure of attachment towards him, Frank just raises an eyebrow and cracks a tasteless joke; he does not leave like Stick did.

It’s a partnership, an association, and one of the most refreshing relationships Matt has ever had. And it’s destined to crash and burn as soon as they reach their goal.

Frank’s never been much for conversation, and Matt also thrives in silence. But lately Frank’s gotten impatient with their lack of progress, and it shows on every movement he makes. Matt’s starting to fear Frank will leave and resume investigating the old way, the one that leaves a trail of dead bodies behind.

He skulks around his loft, restless, while Matt works. He can’t get behind on his day job, people have put his trust on his hands and he doesn’t plan on disappointing them. He doesn’t plan on disappoint Foggy either.

He stops when he hears as Frank open and closes the sliding panel to his room.

“Are you having fun there?” he calls.

“It doesn’t work right” Frank grunts “It gets stuck in the middle”

“That’s alright, I just don’t open it all the way”

Frank is ignoring him, studying the panels. He carefully examines the frame and concludes “This needs changing”

“No. Frank, it doesn’t”

But Frank isn’t listening. He grabs Matt’s keys and leaves after telling him to not go to sleep early. Frank risks being found by the authorities by going to the hardware store. When he gets there he disarms the panel completely and then he installs a new one. It works perfectly.

Matt thanks him, surprised, and a bit charmed. Frank’s heart stutters and Matt can tell he is pleased, but he just answers with “Ehn, s’alright. Couldn’t have your door get stuck on you”

Afterwards Frank makes his mission to fix everything that works remotely wrong on Matt’s home. He changes the hinges of the roof access door the day after. He changes the locks for some that are less easy to pick, and keeps a key. He fixes his bathroom’s faucet, and his chairs. Matt feels like a housewife asking her strong husband to open a jar of pickles for her. He actually asks Frank to do this once with the intent of creating an opportunity to make fun of him, and to his surprise, Frank acquiesced. He didn’t comment on it and just grabbed the lid, dwarfed by his hand, and popped it open. Handed it to Matt like an afterthought and went back to his place on the couch.

Matt knows Frank does this out of boredom, but still it makes something inside his chest squeeze. Foggy has told him that he has a weak spot for thoughtfulness, and that’s why they are such great friends, because Foggy Nelson is nothing if not thoughtful.

Frank doesn’t make Matt feel the same way Foggy does when he nags at him on the quality of his fridge. Frank sharpens all his knives, he tells him that he used to do this for Maria fearing she might cut herself, and he is smiling while he recalls. Matt thinks about this even a few days after.

The air tastes of electricity and it feels humid. Matt hears as the wind is cut by tall buildings. The sound of it hitting his office is familiar. He faces at Foggy, who is having lunch alongside Karen on her desk. Matt takes a bite of his sandwich before speaking.

“Did you bring an umbrella?”

Karen looks up.

“No? The weather cast said there’d be no rain today”

“The weather cast is wrong and incompetent and you shouldn’t trust it” Answer’s Matt bitterly.

“Okay? That was an entirely too emotional answer for something so inane?”

“Matt’s got beef with the weather forecast. And practically every weather channel” Adds Foggy happily around his coffee.

“Why? What have they done?” she asks, uncertain. Foggy smiles before replying

“It frustrates him”

“They are always wrong” Matt explains from his position at the window.

“And how would you know?” Karen sounds amused, her voice echoing slightly as her mug nears her mouth.

“He can _smell _the weather” Foggy is grinning. Matt frowns.

“I can’t _smell _it” he tries to add but Karen speaks over him.

“Like a dog?”

“Like a dog” confirms Foggy.

These two no longer take him seriously. What happened to the old crushes they both used to harbor for him when they first met?

“That’s amazing!” chirps Karen “Can you smell cancer, too, Matt?” she teases. Matt raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. Huh, he’d never thought about that, it is worth investigating someday, he might bring this up to Frank; he might have some good ideas. Matt smiles at them with his lips closes and shrugs.

“Can you smell lies, buddy?” Foggy asks. Matt denies, he can’t smell them. He can hear them though.

“Fogs, we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Um, yeah. But Karen isn’t privy to it”

“Can you smell weakness, Matt?” she mock whispers.

“Oh yeah he absolutely can” Foggy answers for him.

Karen hums, pensive, and looks outside.

“It’d be nice if you could sniff Castle out”

Matt feels the smile fall from his face. Foggy sighs.

“Karen, stop thinking about it, it won’t do you any good obsessing over this.”

“But, maybe. Maybe we could keep on investigating, you know? We were onto something.”

“Yes, we were. But now, we aren’t. It was dangerous to get involved in the first place and now that we don’t have a reason to is unnecessary. He is a murderer, Karen. Let it go, is not worth it”

“He saw his entire family get killed!”

“It does not justify going on a literal murder spree!”

Matt thinks of Frank talking to his dead wife, with his voice rough with feeling and no trace of anger.

“But isn’t this what we do, though? We find the truth, we bring justice”

Foggy slumps, defeated, tired.

“Forget about Frank Castle, Karen. He escaped, murdered his guard to do so, and he is no longer our problem”

“But don’t you think is strange? He was attacked before, by a guard as well, and now somehow he made a guard enter his cell and then killed him?” she talks fast, a bit out of breath “what if that guard tried to do what the other one couldn’t, Foggy?”

“Two guards in a row? That seems like a bit too much”

“It wouldn’t have been too much if it had worked!”

Foggy purses his lips.

“Even so, and please let me talk.” He says as Karen opens her mouth “He is no longer our client, and there hasn’t been any news on him lately. He might have been laying low, he might be dead. But worrying about it won’t help, Karen. There’s nothing we can do about it, not now”

She sags and looks at the ceiling, swallows and says “I know. But it doesn’t feel right; it feels like a loose end. What do you think, Matt?”

Matt kept silent knowing that if asked his first instinct would be to defend Frank, and Foggy would find that suspicious. It’d be a huge jump in logic for him to suspect that Matt has been working alongside Frank Castle, but Foggy is sharp enough to realize it if given enough clues.

“I think” he says carefully “that we should forget about him” he hears as Karen exhales frustrated at the lack of support “But, if he is found again, I wouldn’t be opposed to being his lawyer”

“You sure about that, Matty? Don’t you remember how he treated you? He acted like if you spat on his coffee and then stared at your ass as you left.”

Karen chokes on her tea and starts laughing. Matt blushes and frowns, he murmurs at him to shut it. This only makes Karen laugh harder.

They leave as it gets dark, water drops have been falling and are steadily increasing. Foggy and Karen call for a cab, but Matt stays behind. He heard a familiar heartbeat around the corner a few minutes ago.

Ten minutes after Karen and Foggy are gone, Frank knocks on his door. Not more than a second later Matt opens it.

“Did you know I was coming?”

“I heard you close, thought you came to pay a visit. What is it?”

“Went to you place and saw you didn’t bring you umbrella. Thought all drop by and bring it to you” He hands it him.

“Mmh. How did you know it was going to rain?”

“Old bullet wound. Feels funny when there’s a storm coming”

Matt grins at this “I could have called a cab, you know?”

“Didn’t think of it”

Matt noticed Frank was lying. He kept quiet.

“You got nothing to eat?”

“I don’t know, do I? You are the one with his head deep inside my fridge” snaps Matt.

“Someone’s got his panties in a twist, huh?” Frank smirks. “Fair enough, you mind if I call for takeout?”

Matt turns on his laptop and takes off his tie. “You gonna pay for it?”

“Only if I’m going to eat it all” Matt slumps his shoulders and cracks his neck, rubbing at it.

“You’ve been eating my food for weeks now, it’s time for some reciprocity, Frank”

Frank seems to think about it, eventually he nods and picks up Matt’s cellphone and orders a pizza. He tosses the phone at Matt from behind him, and he dodges it. It lands on the carpet. Matt gives him the middle finger, and Frank huffs a laugh.

“You own me a new phone now, Castle”

“You could have caught it couldn’t you. You fault if it’s broken”

“Can’t move my arms that much. I cracked my ribs last night” Matt answers, defeated. He puts on his headphones and listens to a recorded phone call. He can feel Frank staring the back of his head. He’s been doing that a lot, randomly staring. It feels like heat growing at the back of his neck.

“Didn’t know you were made of crystal, Red” Matt doesn’t answer, instead he makes a hand gesture indicating him to come closer.

“Come on, hear this” He pass on the headphones to Castle.

“You don’t need them?”

“Nah. I can hear just fine”

Frank sits beside him on the floor, knees touching. The voice talking is familiar, Frank tells him -and he sounds angry-, but he can’t place from where. It’s a man talking about a video that was leaked. Frank’s name comes out during the conversation, as well as the name of one of the members of his unit. It does not say anything incriminating, at least not obviously. But the fact that this man mentioned his name a a few days before his family was murderer it’s suspicious.

Matt’s expression is grim. He can hear Frank’s heart pounding. He is angry, his nostrils are flaring and he’s breathing shallowly.

Matt makes as if to touch him, but stops himself at the last second. Frank might attack him, so he stands up calmly and takes a step away.

“Frank?” the man doesn’t answer, he is diving deep inside his head. “Frank.” He tries again, voice louder.

“I was betrayed, Red.” He speaks fast and low. “If it’s someone from the army that means I’ve been betrayed.” He stands up, hitting the table, but doesn’t seem to feel any pain. “They set the order! They fucking slaughtered my whole family! My kids! Someone _I knew_!”

He is shouting. Frank turns back and kicks the couch with force. The he kicks it again. And again. It clatters, Matt hears as the wood frame inside of it crunches and complains. Dust lifts on the air, and in his own skin he feels as Frank’s body temperature increases.

Matt lets him rage and scream, and strike at his furniture until he is satisfied. The pizza arrives and Matt pays. The boy delivering it seems scared at the noise, but Matt smiles sharply and waves him away, giving him a significant tip. He has every intention of recovering all that money from Frank’s wallet when he is distracted, but now is not the moment. He puts the box on the counter and waits.

Once Frank is done, he drops on the floor and hides his head between his knees. The space he occupies is the smallest he ever has in Matt’s presence.

“Does this means is my fault, Matt?” his voice is rough and muffled. “Something I did back there made em’ wanna take a hit on me, on my family? So much shady shit happened, Red. I don’t even know what made them want to shut me up” he confesses.

Matt crouches in front of him and grabs his shoulders, Frank looks up, his jaw tense and eyes watery, the smell of still unshed tears is faint. Matthew takes off his glasses and fixes his eyes to where he thinks Frank’s are. He hears a sharp intake of breath, a beat skipped.

“It was not your fault, Frank.” Matt tells him softly “You, your family, they were all victims. It’s the fault of whoever chose to hurt you. And we will find them, wherever they are hiding. I promise” he is earnest, and he means it. He feels as Frank reduces the distance between them, they do not hug, but Frank rests his forehead on the juncture between his head and shoulder.

The smell of unscented shampoo, sweat, aftershave, and Frank’s skin hits his nose and he breathes in deep. He hears as Frank does the same. His hands wander to Matt’s forearms and he holds them tight, keeping him still.

Time passes, Matt breaks the silence.

“The Pizza is getting cold”

“The Pizza arrived? How long ago?” he sounds a bit weak, but better.

“I’m not sure. I’ll heat it up anyways”

“Alright. Can you grab me a beer?”

“Sure thing” Matt does so as Frank sits on a chair. They drink quietly until the microwave beeps. Frank’s awfully quiet, but Matt understands. He turns on the radio on the lowest volume and focuses on that.

He hears the sound of dough bending. Matt grins.

“You really eat pizza like that?”

“Like what”

“Folding it in half, like an asshole”

Frank gives a breathy laugh and shakes his head. “Why are you always so surprised when I act like an asshole, I thought you knew I’m one already”

“I like to see the best in people” he shrugs.

“Yeah. Yeah you do.” He sounds almost fond.

Frank leaves an hour after. He does not say goodbye, but he stands and stares at Matt a couple of seconds. He doesn’t pick up any of the stuff he brought and instead leaves it lying around, then he walks out the door.

Matt still feels warm, he doesn’t know if it was the beer or the pizza. Or Frank’s shoulder muscles shifting under his palms radiating heat through his shirt, his breath on his neck, the smell of his hair.

Or his voice low and deep, rough from screaming in unison with the sound of drums thumping inside his chest.

Above all the physical traces he leaves behind, those that only Matt is privy to. It is the show of vulnerability that has Matt shaken as he goes to sleep. It feels like proof that Frank is just a man who is lost, and has lost too much. But it also feels like a secret to keep, away from curious eyes. Something that Matt is not willing to neither give a way nor forget.

Quite like a gift, he muses. It makes Matt realize that Frank trusts him to some extent.

The sin of pride leaves a sweet aftertaste on his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man oh man I had this fic DONE i had it FINNISHED. And then Microsoft word didn’t save it because the file was DAMAGED.  
Thank god I had a backup for this chapter but what was going to be chapter 4 got lost and I’m so pissed. IT WAS GOING TO BE SO LONG it was nearing the 10k. It’s like I fear something and then POOF! It comes to life, wtf.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and Kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a bit crazy. Matt's kinda of an adrenaline junkie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no betaed and only my sleep deprived eyes at work here to make sure that there arent Too Many spelling mistakes and stuff. Sorry in advance

Frank knew that Maria had him since the moment she first smiled at him. He was doomed since she told him and his dumb guitar _“Hey, buddy, you, uh, you know anything else?”_ after he botched a song who knows how many times in a row in a public space.

She always felt right. She was always home, she was warm, beautiful, she understood him, she was _it. _

She was gone.

Frank woke up and touched the right side of the bed, looking for her body and found only cold sheets. And then he remembered.

He showered and shaved with Maria’s voice echoing inside his head, like a stream of words that when put together did not hold any meaning. He went through the motions and almost forgot to eat. The meal was tasteless, he wondered if he maybe forgot to add salt.

He kept thinking about what they found out yesterday. Frank had been betrayed by someone who he maybe trusted, someone who he maybe knew. And maybe if he didn’t, someone he once had served. Like a dog, with unwavering loyalty, and like a dog that someone ordered for him to be put down.

He entered Matt’s loft through the roof access. Matt wasn’t there when he arrived and he was thankful for that. He also left all his shit here in Matt’s loft yesterday, he now noticed. His jacket was on a chair, his laptop on a sofa sitting over neatly aligned documents. His head felt as if veiled, much like it did after he first woke up from his coma.

Frank looked around. The billboard lights making it selves present in the increasing dark as night came by. There was a note on the table with a messy and a bit childish handwriting.

_Had to accompany Foggy to the precinct. There’s cold pizza in the fridge. M.M._

Yesterday he realized he’d let Murdock come closer than planned. After his breakdown, Matt’s smell and the heat of his neck’s skin pressing under Frank’s nose felt like an anchor to reality. Matt’s biceps firm in his hands. Matt had looked straight at him, the red and purple from the billboard making dancing shadows on his face and shining on his irises. Different to the almost flame like quality those colors had when Frank made a deal with the devil.

Matt was so fucking beautiful Frank forgot how to breathe.

He heated up the pizza and made himself confortable. Sighing in deep, he laid on the couch, anticipation rising under his skin for Matt’s arrival.

“Don’t you look right at home, Frank” Matt told him smiling when he sensed him. And Frank felt uncomfortable at the thought that he did, if not at home at least he felt safe here. So he didn’t answer him and instead pulled his wallet and offered him 20$. Matt took it silently. Their fingers brushed and Frank felt like an idiot in high school once again. “Give me another 15, that’s the tip I gave the kid who brought it” Frank did so while grumbling, trying not to focus on Matt’s annoyingly charming grin.

He practically gave Matt the cold shoulder the rest of their night together; Matt did not call him out on it. And also didn’t comment the times Frank unwittingly paused and stared at him, Frank caught himself and stopped, but then he thought about how much he wanted for Murdock to take those glasses off and he was back again staring at them, trying to see his eyes, staring at his mouth and shoulders, at his fingers brushing on paper as he read.

He’s been alone too long, Frank rationalized. His brain must be affected by blue balls syndrome and so he was fixating on Matt’s body. The awareness at Matt’s presence becomes as constant as Maria’s voice at the back of his head, when both feelings mix all that’s left is self loathing.

They needed to get the identity of the man that ordered the hits on Frank from the warden. Smith didn’t talk, too scared of retribution. Frank wanted to strike as soon as possible, but he knew better, so he waits until in those involved grow a false sense of security.

There’s nothing else to fix at Matt’s place, unless he breaks something himself. He spends his evenings there anyway, whether Matt is there or not.

One night Matt is hearing an audience while Frank cleans his guns quietly on the table. Suddenly Matt startles up, hesitates, runs to his room and hastily puts on the Daredevil body armor and cowl, Frank is used to this by now and so he doesn’t stop what he is doing. Matt goes out thought he roof and leaves the door open, a gust of wind comes in and spreads the papers from the coffee table all around the floor. Frank curses. Closes the door and begins to collect them.

Matt comes back half an hour later, there’s dirt on him and blood spatters dust his jaw and a tenuous smell of vomit comes from the sole of his feet. He is grinning, content and filled with nervous energy like a child on sugar rush.

_What an absolute freak_ Frank thinks fondly. He sorta wishes that he had gone with.

Warden O’Connor lived with his wife on a hotel in Manhattan. The building had fifteen floors, IP cameras on every hallway and five security guards on the lobby, with some other making rounds. They had moved there a few years earlier after their teen son had committed suicide on their bathroom.

To avoid being recorded Matt suggested Frank memorized the layout of the building, so their first stop would be the power room to cut off the electricity, and from then on Matt would take charge.

They enter through the subterranean parking lot; Matt faces the other way when they pass a camera lens. They crunch and hide behind the cars so the security guard won’t notice them. Frank muses if he should just hit him on the head and leave him unconscious while they work, but Matt grabs his arm as though he could read his mind.

Matt’s fingers are digging at his bicep when he suddenly pulls him up and into the door that leads to the stairs. Frank glances at the side and sees that the guard is yawning with his eyes tightly shut.

He releases Frank once they are out of view, and Frank starts to lead him, but Matt walks past him and runs directly to the electrical room. Frank growls in annoyance.

“If you could find it all on you own then why the fuck did you make memorize all those plans?”

Murdock smirks, eyes hidden behind his black mask (the daredevil suit was too conspicuous, so today he was wearing his black pajamas) “I wanted for you to feel useful”

Frank wants to deck him right there and then, but he refrains. It is an abysmal effort, faintly painful; his first thought when in presence of Matt is violence. Not to hurt him, no. To push him down, to shut him up. Immobilize him; wipe that smug flash of teeth out of his mouth. Frank seethes in shackled energy and a thirst that lacks a north to be directed to.

Matt makes an attempt to pull down the levers, but Frank is faster. He pulls out his gun and shoots every panel until the room is dark, barely missing Matt’s arm. From one of the metal boxes surges a small flash of an explosion, the sudden burst of it just enough to see Murdock snarl.

Matt grabs Frank from the collar and shakes him “_What_ the _fuck_ were you thinking?” he hisses, face close. There’s only the heat of Matt’s body and the low growl of his voice now that there’s no light to make at his features, and yet Frank knows clearly what expression Matt is making at him. He can envision clearly the curl of his lip over his canines.

“I just wanted to feel useful” Frank drawls.

It is fascinating to feel as Matt twitches when he refrains himself from pounding on him. Frank can feels as Murdock forces his muscles to relax, coiling his anger in and keeping it tightly restrained inside him. He releases him brusquely and stalks out of the room.

Frank follows him through the hotel floors; Matt stops every few seconds to avoid people, both residents and guards, as they make their way through the halls. Frank can hear conversation coming from beyond the doors, from guests and residents. In comparison to the muffled murmurs Matt is too silent, Frank doesn’t hear his breathing or his steps as he moves, and even with the light coming from stranger’s flashlights it is almost as if Matt has merged into the walls. But then Matt whisper’s Frank’s name softly, letting him know he was only a few feet away. They are now in front of O’Connor’s room.

Matt picks the lock and it opens with a _click_. They can hear as O’Connor speaks to his wife, there is candlelight coming from the living room.

O’Connor is giving his back to them so he is only alerted when his wife gasps, stopping herself from screaming at the sight of Frank’s gun pointing directly at her. O’Connor turns and startles.

“Go lock yourself in the bathroom and don’t come out. Leave your phone on the table” Frank orders gruffly. She trembles and her mouth gapes, but she does not move “NOW!” he shouts.

“Do as he says, Helena” O’Connor murmurs while keeping his hands high. Helena swallows and nods even though he is not looking at her; O’Connor’s eyes are fixed on Frank.

Once she is gone, Frank takes a step closer to the warden.

“On your knees” O’Connor Obeys. Matt searches for weapons and finds a handgun inside a drawer. “What’s the name of the man that gives orders to your guards?”

“I don’t know” O’Connor sounds calm, but there’s a glint of a bead of sweat at his temple.

“He is lying” whispers Matt with his head cocked to the side as he circles them. Frank Strikes at the warden with the back of his Glock. O’Connor lands on his side and sneers up at him.

“I don’t know his name!”

Frank makes a show of taking the safety off. He steps on O’Connor’s leg, immobilizing him, putting enough of his weight to make him hiss in pain.

“Answer the goddam question!”

O’Connor looks wildly around the room; his eyes fixate on Matt, unaware that he won’t catch his pleading countenance. He is trying to find if there’s a good cop in this situation.

Frank shoots him on the shoulder, the sound quieted by a silencer. O’Connor falls and bites back a scream. Matt twitches but doesn’t move forward.

“If I tell you I’m as good as dead!” It is not a whine, but close.

“If you don’t tell me then you _are_ dead. And then so will be your wife” Frank says darkly. There’s a shadow in his peripheral vision and he sees Matt has moved to the windows, blocking the city’s luminescence; a inky silhouette in the room, far away from the glow of the candles so they won’t touch him.

“Please” whispers O’Connor, Frank had forgotten of him for a second. “I can’t tell you” He pleads and sits, staring earnestly at Frank’s eyes as if to convince him. Frank smiles wryly at the thought, like he gave a shit.

“Tough luck” he murmurs.

Matt comes forward and squeezes O’Connor’s shoulder. The man jumps. He had lost track of Matt moving around the room, it seems.

“I wonder, How long has it been since the last time Helena chewed her hair in anxiety” his voice is soft and almost sultry, threatening, it demands you to keep quite so you could listen to it. “She hasn’t done it since Louis, has she not?”

O’Connor’s breath gets caught inside his throat, he keeps it inside. Matt continues.

“She heard the shot, you know that. What would be of her, I wonder, if something happened to you?” he lets his voice get tinted with amusement. “What would she do to herself? Any Ideas?” He squeezes harder and slides his hand to the man’s neck; he nears his ear and breathes out a single word “Jamie?”

The devil releases the poor bastard. O’Connor sags and crumbles and starts breathing again, he looks up, his body small and defeated. He gives them a single name.

Don Michaels.

Frank’s heart flutters and he feels hot all over, it feels like something is clawing inside him, it pulls at him in every movement making his muscles tight. Matthew walks ahead, exuding satisfaction, while Frank has to breathe purposefully.

That old thought of Murdock being more than human in trying to get back inside his psyche. But it is too ridiculous to even consider. He knows this man for fucks sake: he sleeps in silk sheets and sniffs at every fruit before buying it. He enjoys making blind jokes just to make others annoyed or uncomfortable, he guilt trips himself into doing stuff he doesn’t want to do. His laugh is weirdly endearing and his scent is sweet and yet faint and like nothing Frank can identify. He is a dumbass, and he loves to give speeches about morality and about why Frank needs a large shot Jesus fucking Christ juice directly into his bloodstream.

And he just made a grown man cry.

He asks Matt how he knew how to break O’Connor. At this Matt turns back at him and shrugs “I just listened to Helena’s prayers”

Frank doesn’t know if he feels better now.

Don Michaels was a ghost inside every system. He was either erased from every registry available or his was a fake identity. It doesn’t matter to them either way. O’Connor gave them just enough to find him.

Michaels travels four times a week through the entire city. He takes a taxi, the car drops him somewhere else, and then another taxi takes him to another place. Sometimes he enters to different buildings and leaves after a short time, but beforehand he always does this dance with the cabs, as if to throw off any tails.

Matt is like a bloodhound and once he catches his scent they know where he goes and where he was, they quickly unravel his routine. They map the routes of the cars until they find a pattern, while following them Matt notices that the drivers type a code inside their phones once Michaels enters, and type another once he leaves. The code is never the same, so they only have one small margin of time to act; this is once Michaels is on the road.

With all that security, it wouldn’t be insane to assume he had a tracker in his person too. They couldn’t just take him away unless they wanted whoever he worked for to find them.

A few hours before noon they wait for him at a traffic light, Michaels is already at the passenger’s seat. Frank gets ready to grab the driver once they stop, feeling the adrenalin slowly rising up his veins.

Then Matt suddenly rushes forward and jumps in front of the cab.

Like a suicidal road chicken.

He hits the windshield, the car stops, making a frigid sound with its tires. Matt rolls down, yanks open the back seat and enters, he punches Michaels on the nose and before the driver can react, he grabs him from behind with a chokehold. He turns and faces at Frank through the glass while the driver squirms. Frank can almost see a judgmental eyebrow rise behind the mask as if saying _Well? What are you waiting for?_

Frank opens the door and throws the driver out. Matt now focuses solely on Michaels who is holding his face as if his nostrils are about to fall off. Frank presses the accelerator and drives off.

Once they are away he turns back and shouts.

“WHAT the _FUCK were you thinking?!” _

“They were going to ignore the red light. I heard the motor accelerating” he explains calmly.

“You _heard- _and then you _jumped! _Are you insane?!”

Matt sighed. The little shit.

“Please, Frank. We can’t waste time”

Frank had the urge to crash the car and just let Murdock fly through the windscreen. But it lasted no more than a second before he settled. He had now the urge to laugh.

“I can’t say I ever get bored with you”

Matt smirked at him, and then he grabbed Michaels by the throat and smashed him on the window.

Don Michaels was trained to resist basic torture. Just cuts, punches and threats wouldn’t do. Frank thought that maybe they could connect his balls to the car battery; maybe he’d be more talkative then. They didn’t have enough time for that.

Matt was growing impatient, and so was Frank, his knuckles were white while holding the wheel.

“I’m feeling this _need_, Red, of just throwing this bastard out and keep on driving”

Matt cocked his head. Frank glanced at him through the rear view mirror and saw a flash of dark amusement take place on his pretty mouth. Matt focused on him then.

“Get on the highway” he ordered “We are gonna do just that”

Frank drove them to the interstate, breaking the speed limits, zigzagging in between cars. A loud and annoying chorus of horns as background noise.

Matt kicked the door open, seized Michaels by his blood stained shirt and manhandled him until half of his body was hanging outside the cab.

“_Oh god”_ whimpered Michaels, those were the first words he uttered during this hell trip. Matt sat on top of his legs, to keep him firm in place, and grabbed his wrist so he would stop trying to grasp at something. Michaels whimpered again.

“Who gave the order to kill Frank?” Matt asked without raising his voice above of what was enough to be heard over the sound of the wind.

Michaels shook his head vehemently “Please let me in!”

“Who gave the order?!”

“PLEASE! _PLEASE!”_

Matt pushed more of his body out, until Michaels’ head was inches away from the asphalt. Matt had him on a tight grip, but he was also in danger of falling of the car, and even then he didn’t waver. Frank was impressed. He got distracted and the car abruptly moved to the right, they almost crashed into a van. Michaels started to cry, but Matt remained unfazed.

Police sirens began to sound far behind. They must be putting on quite a show from the outside then.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Matt hauled him back in and pinned him to the seat.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Michaels almost bites his tongue trying to answer.

“I’m a messenger. I pass orders around so they can’t be tracked! I- I don’t know who gives them, I’m neutral! It’s a- a service for different parties so there’s no need to show faces. I swear, _please, _I’m telling the truth!” Michaels breathing was labored and he was drenched in sweat.

“Alright” said Matt, and then to Frank “Get the car speed down to 30mph and get into the side of the road”

Frank did, and Matt kicked Michaels out. Frank saw him roll, stop, crawl, and puke before he set his eyes to the front road.

Matt climbed to the copilot seat “So, there’s a helicopter coming”

Frank growled.

They had escaped.

Frank drove them directly into Harlem River and they jumped while the car was still on the air. Matt was a shitty swimmer but he managed to get ashore. Frank helped him up and they ran.

Frank stole a car and ignored Matt’s complains. He forced him inside and before he could make the attempt to get out, Frank took off.

It’s been years since Frank has run from something instead of towards it and it made him feel like a child, dashing away from trouble. It almost made him laugh.

He was going to kick Matt’s ass once they were safe, though.

Back at the loft Frank made the attempt to kick the back of Matt’s knees, but Matt moved to the side as if he was about to begin a dance. The mental image was just enough to diminish Frank’s frustration with the lack of progress, enough for him to not keep on attacking Matt. He still was fuming.

“This all has been fucking useless” he stated.

“We just discovered that there’s apparently a group of people dedicated to offer basic services to the mob families”

“_Useless._ That shit has nothing to do with what we are looking for”

Matt breathed in with the intent of calming himself, which only pissed Frank off more.

“The person who want to shut you up has had contact with them, we can use them somehow to-!”

“Fuck you! _‘Somehow?’_ This shit’s only gonna lead us away you naïve moron!” Frank shouted and shoved Matt “progress is slow as a river of shit!”

“For fuck’s sake Frank I’m doing everything I can! what the hell more do you want?!”

“What I want is to go out blow their brains out is WHAT I WANT!” Frank huffed and stalked away, picking up his stuff as he went “And that’s _exactly_ what I’m gonna do”

Matt grabbed his shoulder hastily and Frank punched him.

Murdock did not take that well and kicked him on the stomach. Frank did not block it; instead he grabbed Matt’s leg and pulled, throwing him off his rhythm. Matt let himself fall, and supporting himself on his hands, he used his other leg to kick Frank’s side, making him release him. Matt stood and Frank punched him. He threw another punch; Matt caught it, and twisted. He kneed him again on his lower abdomen, too close to his crotch for comfort. Frank took advantage of their proximity and head-butted him.

Matt staggered back, and Frank threw himself at him, with the intent of tackling him. Matt jumped out of his way at the last second. He kicked him behind the knees and Frank dropped. He turned and tried to stand up but Matt was faster and bodily pushed him. They landed on the coffee table, breaking it, Matt pinning him down painfully by holding his shoulders as it collapsed.

Matt was snarling and blood had tinted his teeth red. He looked as if he was about to take a bite out of Frank’s face.

Frank felt his cock throb and his gut tighten; he almost bucked his hips up before regaining some judgment. He rolled to the side, pushing Matt off of him. They were still close enough for Frank’s shadow to

There were some books by his side on the floor, some upside down and open, and one of the feet of the table was digging at his thigh. A broken coffee mug lay a few inches away, the remaining of its contents staining the carpet. He realized it was the one he left there this morning.

Matt panted and sat “If you were to shoot them all then there wouldn’t be any progress _at all_. I know you know that, they’d hide and cover their asses.” His voice made Frank focus on him.

Frank stared, took in the sight of Matt, the sweat, the blood and the forming bruises. The tussled hair and the up and down of his chest. He felt something akin to guilt and want.

It was always these mixed feelings with Matt. It was never just one thing; it was rage and desire, it was exasperation and fondness, salt in his wounds and wine on his lips.

Frank breathed in shakily and closed his eyes

“Why are you helping me?” he asked. Matt frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“You could’ve just… you could’ve just given the cops a tip of where I was and gotten rid of me. That would’ve stopped me from killing”

Matt raised his eyebrows, his face was pointed the side, the pale sunlight coming from outside touching his skin and glistening on his hair. It had rained last night and it remained overcast until now, the first sun rays of the day were peaking shyly from the clouds, spilling on Matt’s cheekbones. Frank’s throat was dry

“But then you’d never find those who gave the order”

“But you don’t care about that; you are only helping me so I won’t kill those pieces of shit.” He said bitterly.

Matt looked almost sad as he answered “I want you to know who did it and why, I want for your wife and kids to have justice”

There it was again, two contrary feelings bubbling up between his lungs and cutting off his breathing. Warmth and grief.

Frank leaned in, as if pulled by a soft gravity coming from Matt, and kissed him. Matt’s breath hitched but he didn’t move away. Frank’s hand grabbed him by the nape and pulled him in closer, his back hurt faintly at the posture, but this was easily ignored. Matt’s hand found his shirt and grasped it tightly.

They broke off slowly but they remained almost touching. Matt’s face was blank and for some reason this irritated him. Frank grabbed him more brusquely and instead of dragging him into his space he pushed Matt onto the ground and kissed him, forcing Matt’s mouth open with his tongue. Matt groaned and pulled strongly at his shirt, trying to immobilize Frank on top of him, to keep him close. Frank’s dick twitched when Matt bit his lips. He put a hand around Matt’s neck to keep him down and started grinding, feeling himself getting harder by the second. Matt’s hips met his own in the perfect rhythm.

Frank licked Matt’s neck, lips brushing his pulse point and Matt whimpered. He tugged at his shirt and Frank separated enough to take it off, Matt took this to his advantage and sat, Frank lost his balance for a second and Matt pinned him down, straddling him. He grinned, his hands started roaming Frank’s chest. Frank pulled him into a kiss again, his erection now straining against his jeans. He could feel Matt’s own dick through the fabric of his pants and tried to generate more friction, Matt met him eagerly halfway and then they kept on dry humping like teenagers.

There was a buzz in his ears and his body felt scalding. The world around him disappeared and his sole focus remained on his crotch and where Matt was touching him, the only sound he could hear was his own heart, panting breaths, and Matt’s drowned moans at the back of his own throat.

Frank tried to get on top again and they started almost wrestling. Frank shoved his hand down Matt’s pants and started jerking him off, Matt whimpered and hid his face on the crook of Frank’s neck, tried to do the same for Frank but he shushed him and held his wrist tight. Matt sunk his teeth on Frank’ shoulder and suddenly it was too much. Frank pulled out his dick and rubbed it against Matt’s still clothed one.

He kissed him again and came with a growl, he used his now slick head to bring Matt to the end and then let himself breathe, now on top of Matt. During their weird wrestling sex they exchanged positions, Frank couldn’t for the life of him remember when and how had they rolled so far apart from their initial location.

He glanced at Matts face, flushed and blessed out and felt hot all over again, but now uncomfortably sticky as well, so he stood up with a grunt and murmured gruffly that he was going to use the shower. He found some spare clothing inside Matt’s drawers and kept his calm right until the water hit his face and let himself freak out quietly in the bathroom. But the panic never came, just the expected awkwardness of being intimate with someone you were close with.

And wasn’t that a revelation.

Matt was currently the person Frank was the closest with. Matt, who was surely freaking out right now. Maybe running straight to his priest like the fucking catholic boy he is.

When Frank came out of the bathroom he was surprised to find that most of the mess had disappeared, the books were up on the counter, the mug nowhere to be seen, and the pieces of the table had been pulled the side onto the nearest wall. All that remained was the coffee stain on the carpet, now dry and mixing itself with the light brown colors of the rug.

Matt was drinking juice in the kitchen.

“You owe me a new table” he commented before putting the glass down and striding into his room “guess is my turn to use _my_ shower now” he said lightly, wearing the expression he always used when he was trying to piss Frank off.

Frank decided there wasn’t really the need to make a big deal out of it. So he washed the glass Matt used, and set himself to examine the table to see if he could maybe fix it, and if he could not, maybe make a new one using the not damaged parts.

The intrusive thoughts of Matt gasping against his mouth kept him on edge, and so he left with some half assed plans for the new coffee table. And maybe a new mug.

Once alone in his safe house he was not sure if the feeling under his skin was the need of coming back to the loft and crawl into Matt’s bed or the urge to run away from whatever the fuck this was.

Maria’s soft murmur in the back corner of his mind became steadily stronger until all he felt was nausea.

He wanted to fucking run now, and yet he was so sure that the moment he set foot into the loft he wouldn’t want to leave. The thought Matt’s rich voice and his pearly white teeth –stained with blood, bruised cheekbones, a feral snarl.– and his dumb red hair that clashed horribly with his glasses and that awful sense of humor set inside him a sharp feel of longing that made him more dizzy than the previous nausea did.

Matt only had four mugs anyways, now three. He needed to bring him a new one at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I kinda got adhd, and the lost file put a huge damp on my progress. Since I kinda sit and write non stop till I'm done, so it was so frustrating to have lost it all. And I'm sorry to those I replied late!! Life is hard, man.  
Also, I am NEVER writing a sex scene again dude, like wth was that


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blatantly glosses over the Punisher S1, th deffenders, and Daredevil S2*  
*Edits minimally*  
I changed my username for something shorter!!!!

Restlessness had him sneaking into Matt’s loft earlier than usual, instead of running away and hiding underwater where Matt wouldn’t find him –If he ever went searching.

He would, of course he would.

Frank’s stomach was churning with guilt at forgetting about Maria for any lapse of time, especially during the occasion of shoving his hands down someone else’s pants.

His goal was the only thing pushing him, he told himself, for there wasn’t other reason to come back that wasn’t Matt’s aid on his crusade.

And that was the reason he was here now, at 3 PM, poking his nose inside Matt’s fridge.

The asshole had only lemons and Thai take out left overs in a glass container. Frank decided that Matt probably wasn’t going to eat it anyway so he heated it up. He ate, not tasting much, got bored out of his mind once he was done and went running to the hardware store to make Murdock a new fucking table. The absence of it too much of a reminder of what had happened last night.

The feet were salvageable so it didn’t take him long to be done. Matt wouldn’t care for the appearance but fuck Frank hated the old table’s color, so he went with darker tones for the top. By six he was finished, he cleaned up hastily and admired his job, slightly pleased with himself.

The carpet was fucking ugly, too. Not much to do about it though. Maybe Matt liked the feeling of it? Or like, the sound of people walking over it was pleasing or some shit.

He examined the windows. Maybe one of Murdock’s blondes would appreciate if Frank went crazy with it and tried his hand at vitraux.

He took a shower, realized he left his shaving cream here again, cursed himself and shaved since he hadn’t had the chance this morning.

It was almost seven and Matt wasn’t back yet. Frank tried to take a nap but was unsuccessful; the energy under his skin buzzing uncomfortably.

So he swept the floor and burnished the new table, the counter tops and the kitchen table.

It was a bit over eight when Matt got there. The first thing he did once he set foot was to sneeze five times. “What the hell have you been doing here?”

“The fuck do you care”

Matt breathed in and frowned

“You ate my food, didn’t you?”

“You still got your lemons, don’t ya?”

Matt snorts and drops his things on the couch “Those are not for eating” he murmured without elaborating. He stops, angles his head to Frank’s position “There’s a table?”

“Brought you one I had lying around” itching to change the subject to another topic, he asks “Why were you so late?”

“Oh” Matt shrugged his jacket off before answering “Had to sort some stuff out”

“Alright” Frank hesitated, an awkward silence trying to make its way into the atmosphere “Anything new?”

Matt considers him and nods slowly “Would you sit down?”

“What”

“Please?”

Frank huffs “Fine” and does so.

Matt sat on the floor in front of him, his fingers lightly feeling the surface of the new table, a little smile playing on his lips. He sobered up suddenly and lifted them quickly as if they suddenly burned. He breathes in deeply before speaking.

“We are already aware of Schoonover’s involvements, are we not?”

Frank made an aborted movement, repressing the subit rage before mumbling “Yeah” They knew about that bastard, and the DA's, Samantha Reyes, hand on it, but it was part of the deal that Frank would not go after them. Matt was waiting for Frank to calm down before speaking.

“We weren’t the only ones keeping tabs on Michaels. A man named ‘Micro’ contacted me”

Frank snorted. That was a stupid ass name “Did he name himself after his dick?” he stared at Matt, disappointed that didn’t change his stoic expression, even though Frank knew Matt had the dumbest sense of humor.

“I gave him the number of this burner phone” Matt says while placing said phone on the table “So he wouldn’t have to contact my office. He is unaware of my identity as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, but he knows we are working together” This had Frank sobering up as well, Matthew continued “Does the name Rowlins ring any bells?”

The realization didn’t come as quickly as it should, but when it did it took all the air out of him, the anger flared up and died down leaving him with a familiar sense of calmness, the one he felt right before taking a shot “It was because of me after all, wasn’t it?”

“Frank,”

“Those involved in project Cerberus, right? It should have been obvious, that was one of the most fucked up things I’ve done, I should have known it’d come bit me in the ass”

“You said you wouldn’t kill anybody once we found out” his voice didn’t waver but it had a sad note to it.

“You damn well knew I was lying”

Matt didn’t say anything for a long time, letting Frank simmer in rage unmoving where he sat “We can find a way to bring this all to light”

“It wouldn’t do shit, though. Rowlins? He is CIA, practically untouchable. You? You are a small firm lawyer with one big case under one wing and a fuckton of pro bono cases under the other.” He sneered.

They’ll eat you alive, Frank thought.

Right there he knew if light came onto their involvement together that Matt would get burned the worst. They might not only ruin his reputation but downright kill him in cold blood. In fact, from what Matt’s told him before, he was sure some people knew already they were working together. The only fact they were not dead already was because Matt was careful to make everything look like they didn’t get much done, playing up his weaknesses.

He heard Matt’s voice calling him but the sound was drowned by the ringing in his ears. He saw so clearly the image of Matt’s body sprawled on the floor with a hole on his forehead, the pieces of the back of his head sprayed behind him. He could clearly see brain matter spilling on his hands, blood seeping between his fingers, while he cradled Matt’s body, knowing all too well the feeling of shock.

“FRANK!” Matt was there, holding him by the shoulders, alive, with his face clear of blood but contorted in worry. “Are you alright? Did you hear what I said?”

No he did not. Frank placed a palm on Matt’s sternum, feeling clearly a heartbeat, before the second beat finished, he pushed him away brusquely and grabbed the phone on the table.

He disappeared, as best as he could, from Matt’s radar.

He began by burning all the safe houses he knew Matt was aware off. He changed shampoo, soap, aftershave and deodorant, and the stuff he regularly ate.

Frank contacted Micro back, and before he kept on going with his mission he forced the guy to find out what people knew about Murdock’s involvement with him and what records of it was being kept. It turned out it wasn’t many, and most of it was suspicion and rumor.

He destroyed them all anyways, and killed everyone in the know. He used a different modus operandi than the ones he was used to, so Matt wouldn’t sniff him out and later blame himself for the people Frank had murdered.

He went to Schoonover’s house and shot him in the head.

He left the District Attorney alone, and the rest of the gang’s involved, but took care of every other person who had a hand on it, who gave an order, who was in the _know_.

Micro was an asshole enough for Frank to like, but working with him made him think often of Matt. He realized that that time was the eye of the storm that was Frank Castle’s life. Although he was an expert in computers, something that neither him or Matt excelled at, so they worked a bit faster together. Micro had his own agenda; he contacted newly minted Detective Dinah Madani to help him clear his name and go back to his family

It was a long time before they were done. Frank didn’t contact any of his old buddies from the army, lest they also get themselves involved in this shit show and killed like his family.

He wondered bitterly, that maybe if he hadn’t listened to Matt and instead of sparing the lives of the handful of bastards that despite being involved, did not had a hand on targeting Frank specifically, and he’d killed them anyways, he wouldn’t feel so hollow.

Once he was done, it felt like victory. It had felt like justice. Now that he came down of his high he found himself lost, standing in front of an unwandered path.

For the first time in years, he was aimless. 

His face was on TV again.

The broadcaster droned on how The Punisher went down near the end of his crusade, making it look like a pathetic death of a man who killed under delusions of justice. Never mentioning the fact that CIA was involved, or that he had been used like a tool and then sacrificed for it.

The next new was about this wide spread collusion, where many high ups from the CIA and military smuggled heroin into the country using unwitting soldiers as private killers. 

They didn’t mention the death toll of the Afghan civilians that saw themselves accidentally involved with it and ended up dead on a ditch.

Nobody made the connection between both news.

It felt bitter. He was so tired.

He had been working a month under the Peter Castiglione alias when an earthquake shook him awake, he thought he was in Afghanistan again, and ended up hiding under his bed, clutching his gun with a death grip, trembling. The sound of Billy’s frantic shouting at the back of his head, the smell of blood and dust and body rot drowning his senses.

Next day people were frantic; the Midland Circle skyscraper had collapsed the night before. Faulty infrastructure, mused Frank with disinterest.

A day later, Hell’s kitchen lawyer Matthew M. Murdock was reported missing. There were no leads. This time the news broadcaster went in deep detail of the many good deeds of Nelson and Murdock’s firm. And the personal story of how a young Matt Murdock was blinded while saving an old man’s life.

The news didn’t register at first. He heard it as background while he made himself coffee, grimacing at the idea of its stale taste, when it clicked.

It did not feel like the floor under his feet caved in, but it was a similar thing.

Matt had never been fundamental part of his life. A friend perhaps, a fling – plain hope sometimes; the relief faith brings–He was not one of the pillars that made the man that was Frank Castle. He was no marine, no family. 

What he did feel, was his heart dropping down into his stomach and his breath freezing inside his throat. Thick felt the air, he was breathing in molasses. Belatedly he noticed that it was his nose that was clogged. 

His heart was pounding on his ears, and _oh _that was fear. The type he felt as a child, the type that made him want to cry a lifetime ago, when fright was not accompanied by adrenaline and the urge to fight. When it was a simple thing.

Matt was missing, and Frank knew he shouldn’t have been afraid for him; the man was incredibly capable but, if he had been taken as Matt Murdock, then he’d never reveal his abilities to whatever son of a bitch had him.

Would he die to keep his identity a secret? 

Yes. 

Was it Frank’s fault, he asked himself. Was one of the bastards he left alive aware of their acquaintance, of their alliance? Of whatever they were –so sweet, so painful – and decided to take revenge on Frank using Matt?

He had left Matt behind so this sort of shit didn’t happen, and for what?

Frank walks out on a flurry towards Matt’s usual haunts. It takes him a week until late at night he finally stumbles onto the tail end of a fight on a small parking lot between storage buildings. There are two thugs fighting Daredevil, and two unconscious on the floor.

For a moment he feels an earth shattering relief, so intense it leaves him physically drained. He lets out a laugh, and he observes smiling how Daredevil kicks some ass.

It is always something amazing to see, the graceful way Matt Moves, graceful and unpredictable and-

And somehow Frank can make up the patterns of Daredevils style of fighting, something he had not been able before even when he tried; Matt usually changes them mid-fight when it suits him or when he is tired.

This, instead, is structured, graceful as well, move after move made to be used in combination one after the other.

_This is not Matt_ he realizes.

He stalks in long strides the second the fake Daredevil is done. Frank tries to keep calm but is proving near impossible at the moment.

“You are not Murdock” he states in a growl, fingering his gun. The impostor looks at him in visibly surprise; he had not heard him coming. And its jarring, it is wrong; everything about it feels like a mocking.

“Oh! No, I’m not” he winces, and that feels wrong too “I’m Danny”

Frank aims at him, they guy tenses in preparation, and the starting posture is somewhat familiar.

“What have you done to him?” is he shouting? He can feel himself clench his teeth tightly, but his voice sounds _so loud_.

Danny opens his mouth to speak and closes it, forming a thin line with his lips, his shoulders sag. He doesn’t look like a threat anymore. The man visibly makes an effort of putting himself together, and Frank feels a child’s fear again.

“He died”

Frank shoots to his left in warning, then aims at Danny’s head “Dead?!”

He can’t breathe. Is he breathing? He can feel the motions of it but it doesn’t feel like there’s air in his lungs.

“At Midland Circle, he was there. We all were, but he stayed back. He, I don’t know, but there was a girl and they knew each other? She wanted to die there”

“_We?”_

“You were friends, right? He talked about you, once”

“You said ‘we’”

“Me and Jones and Luke, and Matt, of course. The Hand wanted to, oh wait, The Hand is-”

“Why are you wearing the suit?”

The man deflated.

Frank hadn’t noticed before, but now that it was lacking, he had realized how brimming with energy this Danny fella had been. Not the same cocky confidence that exuded out of Matt with every smirk, every cocking of hips and every drawled and dry statements. Danny was earnest in the way he spoke, and in his open body language.

But now, he was still and closed up.

“Matt was a hero, The sort I admired and wanted to be like. Hell’s Kitchen was important to him, and I’ll keep it as safe as I can” he confesses and it rings true.

Frank then knew that his man could never be Daredevil, but he could be someone Matt Murdock would get along with.

Frank could kill him for having the gall of attempting to replace Matt, no matter the circumstances, no matter the reason. There was something almost blasphemous at seeing someone else under the Daredevil’s insignia roaming the streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

He turns back and leaves, he walks until he remembers how to breathe again.

There’s water dripping at his back

Frank jerks awake and the world blackens at its borders. He swallows the sour feeling at the back of his tongue while his chest convulses. Throwing up all over himself would be the least of his problems, but the pure nastiness of it might be the last push needed to drive him mad.

There are bottles of whisky at his feet and his ass is numb from the hard cold floor.

He lets himself slowly lean down before making a pathetic attempt to crawl onto his cot. 

What would Maria say if she saw him like this?

Matt, he would surely make a disgusted face before dragging him to a bathroom. 

Maria would have adored Matt wouldn’t she? 

She’d find him so charming and Matt would act all cute with her. Smiling and making self-deprecating jokes, Maria would smack his arm and tell him to stop, without even being able of not laughing. Then Matt would do something vaguely weird, like getting distracted by the tingling that Maria's Earrings make when she shakes her head. He’d ask _are you perhaps wearing silver _and she’d say happily _Yes! Frank gifted these earrings to me on my birthday!_

Fuck, they’d be in their own little bubble and would forget about him, wouldn’t they? They’d do it on purpose, even. Just to mess with him.

Hopefully Frankie wouldn’t say anything insensitive to Matt. Maria would be incredibly embarrassed if he did. Matt would shrug it off casually, but she’d ask him to stay for dinner for his troubles.

He almost made his way towards Matt’s place; he was a few blocks away when he saw Karen Page turning the corner, walking briskly and with her head high, expression like she had the world dragging at her heels.

It was then that Matt’s death felt real. 

Frank didn’t look much like himself anymore; his beard was the longest it had ever been in his life reaching to his chest in a conglomeration of dark curls. He kept his muscle mass out of stubbornness and by hitting and hitting and breaking walls all day with a hammer as part of the demolition effort to completely renovate a building.

His hands had blisters, and they bled with abandon at the end of the day, and his head throbbed in acute pain every night.

Frank pictured Maria brushing her hair at his back while sitting in front of her vanity, and applying cream to her face before tucking in. He could almost hear that little sigh she always gave once her head hit the pillow.

The smell of Matt’s coffee at two in the morning woke him up in a sweat, almost like a nightmare would. It permeated the air and it was painful to notice how familiar it was.

Frank dreamt about a swarm of flies eating at his flesh and leaving his bare bones on his carpet. He no longer had skin but he could still feel the cold.

Sometimes he couldn’t even make it to the couch and he’d lie on the floor. Frank would rest his forehead on the cool tiles, and from within of the earth he’d hear Matt screaming –hs apartment was on the fourth floor of his building, yet he could _hear him-_

Sunday he heard church bells calling for mass. He knew such thing was impossible to hear over the cacophony of the vehicles, the blasting music from the near apartments, the people speaking. Unless of course you were M_-_

He thought of the day they'll finally find Matt’s body, once they cleared the rubble of Midland Circle. Just bare bones, unidentified, cold after yeas in darkness and corroded by vermin and-

Frank punched the wall.

Breathing and eating and sleeping and walking were hell.

_The forsaken world you inhabit_, the Devil had called it once. 

Frank heard him whisper, now, he could feel his stare in the itch between his shoulder blades.

Hell? Hell is right here.

While standing on his empty kitchen, Frank felt clearly warm breath on the back of his neck. The devil, with his chest flush at his back, whispered in his ear.

“Your punishment is happening at this moment, at every moment.”

He always sounded in a way Matt never sounded like, even though he spoke with his same cadence and deep voice. 

But he spoke cruelly and coldly.

Matt always sounded like he was smiling, like it was funny, like he was better than you. Towards Frank, he had been blunt, not cruel. 

Sometimes Frank would forget Matt was gone and think about going back and apologizing for his asshole move the day after they had sex, it was nice to think about it while on idle moments.

After that he’d remember, his stomach would swoop up like it did when he fell unexpectedly and get stuck at the back of his throat, choking him.

  
  
  


Matt found him outside the building he was working on when Frank had realiced it was nighttime and his coworkers where gone. The hammer had slipped off his sweat and blood slick fingers. He decided it was enough for the day.

He thought it was the devil under a street lamp, but it was only his lawyer.

“You smell like misery” Matt greeted blandly.

“You are dead” Frank croaked.

“Have you not seen the news? Hell’s Kitchen lawyer found after being missing for months" he said "apparently Fisk had me kidnapped for putting him in prison.”

“Did he?”

“Nah, a building fell on me.” he smirked, and there it was, the ‘shit happens but its sorta funny’ tone of voice “But that’s embarrassing, so I rather they went with the Fisk story”

Matthew walked away and Frank followed.

“How did you find me?” asked Frank subdued. They were again at Matt’s loft, he’d showered, trimmed his beard short, changed and now held a beer on his hand. The walk and the time spent under the water stream were enough for him to form a semblance of composure “I faked my death, with Government aid an’ all”

“Huh, no shit?”

Frank chuckled, his eyes never deviating from Matt’s slack posture, and the way his Adam apple moved up and down when he spoke. The table Frank had built was the only thing between them. That, and the unwelcome anxiety running through Frank’s veins.

“No shit”

“Ugh, corruption” he wrinkled his nose adorably in undisguised disgust “Your scent on the streets, one too many times made me suspicious. Then Danny told me that he met you, he thought you were very unhinged but in a cool way”

“That kid playing dress up with your suit, yeah?”

Mat nodded “He hates shoes” he smiled. Like that was of any relevance.

And Frank had missed it, so much. He made a wounded sound and then laughed at the clear distress on Matt’s face.   
  
  


“Spend the night?”

“Alright”

“Oh my God, Matt, I _cannot_ believe you”

Frank woke up at Nelson’s voice coming from Matt’s kitchen, he fingered the sheets, enjoying the soft silk.

“I believe you absolutely _can_ believe” Was Matt’s reply, he was smiling. Frank stretched himself over the mattress taking all the space available, debating the pros and cons of walking out half naked to greet his other lawyer.

“Don’t be cheeky with me, mister!” Nelson exclaimed dramatically “_You, _Matthew Michael Murdock, have a type!” he accused.

“And that is?”

“_Dangerous_”

“That’s an unfounded accusation if I ever heard one”

“Exhibit A! _Elektra.”_

“Foggy-”

“Exhibit B! FRANK CASTLE!”

Frank could feel Matt’s exasperation radiating from the other room,

“Two people mean nothing, I’ve dated plenty”

“Don’t I know it” snorted Nelson “well three is a pattern! And I present you exhibit C! _Wade _fucking _Wilson”_

Silence.

“Dear lord Matt I was just making things up, did you really?”

Matt hummed “Maybe? it was dark”

Nelson gave a long groan of pure distaste “I can’t believe you. You know I would die for you, but I won’t even have the chance to, because you will kill me out of stress” he complained. Frank imagined slunping on a chair, hiding his face under his arm.

“Please don’t die” was Matt’s quiet reply. Frank had the sudden urge to hug him. Nelson beat him to it

“Oh no, buddy” he shushed “come here, you sad handsome duck”

“You need stop dating people I can’t give a shovel talk to, you know?”

Matt just laughed at this.

Frank had not known how much Nelson’s approval was actually worth, until now. He’d probably have to gift the guy flowers or something. He could almost hear him say something like _are you trying to woo me, too?_

Frank woke up with his pounding heart being the only noise he could hear. He jumped out of bed , crouched down and checked under it. He examined the closet, the bathroom, the kitchen. He stormed out the ceiling entrance and was greeted with the sight of nocturnal Hell’s Kitchen. The pinkish gleam of the sign crashed with what his senses told him was happening and for a moment he forgot where he felt he was, and where he actually was.

“Frank” Matt’s voice broke the blaring inside his head. He followed it and saw him standing a few feet away from him, wearing only his pajama pants, his hear tussled and seeming darker under the artificial luminescence casted by the city lights.

“Red”

“Where are you?”

“The park?” no “At camp?”

“I see. Let’s move somewhere else then. Can you feel the cold?”

“Yes”

“What else can you feel?”

“Wind” he licked his lips “I’m barefoot”

“What can you see?”

“You”

“What else?”

“Just you, and your apartment behind you”

“Tell me more”

“Your chest, your face. You are shivering”

“It is cold” he smiled slightly.

Frank inhaled deeply, he centered himself “Let’s go inside”

“Do you get off on pity causes?” Frank asked once, looking for a fight “Do you go after broken people?”

“They usually find me” Matt replied quietly. Frank could tell he was angry “Come with me” he said unexpectedly “I need to show you something”

Matt guided him to an old a gym with a boxing ring. It looked straight out of the 70’s or Frank’s imagination. One of those places where time stilled and remained untouched by outside events, always fresh off from memories. He stared around with his eyebrows high in surprise. Frank had been sure Matt would bring him out to stop a robbery or something, to bond like they did before. Instead, he made him sit and handed him boxing gloves “Go wild”

Frank did.

“How did you get the keys?”

“The owner gave them to me”

“You represented him for a case or something?”

Matt shook his head and sighed wistfully “My dad, he was a boxer. I’ve known old man Foggwell since I was a child” He grabbed Frank’s wrist delicately, like he did sometimes. It made Frank’s heart swell.

He leaned to kiss Matt chastely. Matthew parted his lips and deepened the kiss, surrounding the back of Frank’s neck with his hand, holding him firmly there.

He ended the kiss by nibbling slightly on Frank’s lower lip, making him shudder. His pant were too tight for his comfort. 

“We are not fucking here” Matt warned. Then tilted his head “Not yet, at least. I want you to see something else”

Matt didn’t release his wrist while he guided him towards a wall. Frank had not paid attention to it when he entered, distracted by his own anger and Matt’s ass when he walked.

The letter “MURDOCK” where the first thing he read, it was an announcement for a fight between “Carl Crusher Creel v/s Battlin’ Jack Murdock”

“Your dad?”

“It was his last. He was supposed to lose, but he won, the mobs didn’t like that much” he made to smile but it didn’t fit on his face “I asked him to win”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven”

“You didn’t know, it was not your fault” he assured softly. He thought of Frankie, of little Matt Murdock “You were a kid”

“I know. I blamed myself for years though. But recently, for a while, I blamed him. He shouldn’t have listened to me, he should have lost and- and not left me alone. He should have known I would rather have him than-” he took a shuddering breath and Frank replaced Matt’s grip on his wrist for his own hand, and squeezed “He bet on himself and won. I inherited that money, but I can’t bring myself to use it”

Because it was one of the last things left of his father.

Because of what that money meant, at what cost it came.

“I don’t pity you, Frank, you know that right?”

“I do, I’m sorry”

“You don’t pity me, either”

“Never”

Matt was a mess, as well, he’d had nightmares, just like Frank. He’d get angry and leave suddenly, and Frank now knew he’d go to Fog well’s. Frank would pick him up after an hour there, and bring him home.

He still had his apartment, many blocks away, under Peter Castiglione’s name, but that place was empty even when Frank wandered in every once in a while.

“Don’t you have a home?” asks Matt teasingly.

“I like your sheets” Frank shrugs.

They both knew that the Punisher remaining a dead man was uncertain at best. For now, though, he could remain as such. Buried, forgotten. 

In waiting. 

Frank met with his friend Curtis after a while, to let him know he was alive and as well as he could be. He left Billy alone, though, to thrive on his own as he was doing at the moment.

He was reading the newspaper at Matt’s kitchen when the door opened and two people came in.

“Wait. You are Castle, aren’t you?” Karen Page said after the second it took her to recognize him.

“No, that’s Peter” corrected Matt,

“I’m Peter Castiglione”

“You are Frank Castle”

“Frank Castle doesn’t have a beard” Matt argued, frowning in apparent confusion.

“I don’t- I mean, _he_ doesn’t” agreed Frank, his eyes dancing.

“Oh my god” whined Page, covering her face with her palms “Matt, you asshole”

After a few seconds, Nelson came in tugging a bag with groceries, he didn’t even pause when he saw him.

“Karen!” he greeted “I’ve see you’ve met Frank Castiglione”

“Peter Castle” corrected Frank.

“Right, _Pedro Castillo_”

“That’s not how you pronounce it, Fogs”

“You guys, _why_ am I always the last to know shit like this?”

Matt smiled content. Frank chuckled, comfortable and at ease, like he hadn’t felt in years, and, like he also hadn’t done in a long time, he dared to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg thats all!!  
writing's been hard while im back at my mom's for the pandemic. But I did it!!!!  
This fic was my way of getting me back to writing after years doing absolutely nothing, and its easy to tell at times, but i had a lot of fun with it so i'll say it was worth it
> 
> NOW, plot holes???  
Billy is still alive and kicking?? YES! he washed his hands away from it, and he lived to be the most rancid boy ever just because I actually really like his character. And even though I thought he had a good end in canon, having him around being a rotten human makes me happy
> 
> MATT FORGAVE FRANK TOO EASILY. have you met this boy, he surely blames himself for it
> 
> IS IT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP? not really?? but it could be??? I made sure to set the base for it so,
> 
> It's been a delight to read all your comments!


End file.
